Creative Commons License

Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash

Despite my clouds the sun came up this morning. Still I debated whether to be thankful or sit in mourning. As my blues yellowed across the horizon it dawned on me that each day is a gift. I use to take for granted the day as if tomorrow was somewhere in a bank I could go and borrow whenever I squandered it.

Lost in the dark wilderness that consumes the living like the night does the day. I used to take for granted my feet would remain firmly planted on the path of my choosing, never considering crooked paths and crossroads that lead to losing. By Grace The Creator decreed the dawn finds me among the creatures still moving, giving me another chance to continue the journey of my choosing. Tonight I’ll remember to look to the stars as a reminder of my place when I find myself wandering astray.

In reconsideration, my priorities are only important as the goal;
responsibilities are just burdens if they don’t make better my soul.
As the seasons change seeds become fruit;
time exposes lies that have lived as truths,
and what one thinks about a thing is just a theory without proof.
I’ll remember to be thankful as each breath is a milestone in our endless pursuit.

We search outside ourselves for answers which live inside and there are questions for which no answers have been prescribed.
We’ll experience things that will make us laugh and cry.
The beautiful earth is where we live and die.
All The Creator asks is that we be kind to each other and wise stewards of the generous provisions He has provided.
In gratitude I contemplate the tides and the different phases of the moons as I once was a child, but one day I’ll run out of moons.

I was given the breath of life and enough time to leave a legacy of love, as it may be all I have to give.
From darkness to light
I Am Moved

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Global Forum Online has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Reginald Stephen is a writer incarcerated in New York.