Poetry

if mistakes are the best teachers,
what are their teachings?

who will enjoy the fruits of these teachings?
myself, my children, my grandchildren?

why does it seem to me that
i am doing more than my share of learning?

why are others patient with me?
is it because they're busy learning too?

if mistakes are the best teachers,
then, how come i don't know everything?

for a heathen, all sunsets are alike:
    sunsets beckon him
        to start his feast and orgy!

i'm a realist-romantic.
for me, no two sunsets are alike:
    sunsets are the kaleidoscope of my past
        and the mirror of my future!

from my past, i remember
    surfing with the tide,
    listening to my first conch,
    collecting my first set of seashells,
    finding my first piece of driftwood,
    cutting my feet on the volcanic rock;
        but most of all, i remember
            my first walk, hand in hand,
            with my first teenage love,
            looking down and kicking sand,
            knowing what i wanted to profess
            (since i had rehearsed it all day),
            but tongue-tied.

for my future, i see
     wisdom that only comes with age,
     calmness reserved only for ascetics,
     freedom from the ravages of hatred,
     optimism that is unfettered by experiences,
     spiritual improvement that follows from faith;
         but most of all, i see
            peace,
            a peace that comes from knowing
            that i am not a bad custodian
            of my little corner of this
            fragile patch of the universe,
            not always right,
            but right enough times
            to make my raison d'etre a +.

the importance
of
    a grain of sand
                       is
          dependent
on
    whether
                it is
                   at the beach
                   or
                   in your eye.