the reckoning

I put all of humanity's concerns 

into a cup of hot soup.

warm to the exterior 

of touching the cup.

but I knew from that feel, 

how hot it really was.

do I dare to sip 

as with interest?

I can't avoid my instincts and the draw.

my hardy wants to indulge in its richness,

as the we-are-all-human-of-a-kind interest.

we are all here. 

and this is our planet, our home, our hope,

kind of setting while I stand there, 

with hands-full of this taste for interest, 

staring back at me.

somewhat placid, 

as a surface view,

but knowing each sip 

will be a deeper investment.

each sip is more zestful truth,

than maybe I had naively thought to be so.

I will pretend, for now,

that hardy is its own reward.

does destiny have to whisper in my ear

for me to take a sip 

and tastefully learn some?

if I were homeless,

this would be too real to have received 

as an option.

a warm cup of anything in my hands 

would have gesturally mattered,

as well as each sip 

inviting me back into my own ongoing life.

but this is bigger 

than personal circumstance.

this is between me and the planet,

based upon human intervention

or the failure of it of my behalf.

needless to say, 

my first step forward

will not be that this is a damn shame.

I don't need a past as proper motivation.

there is a sense of ascent, 

somewhere inside me.

I have the fuel to do.

I just need to get my vision-on. 

the world is a big place

and I have been sabotage before, 

by that relational stature being overwhelming to me.

but this time, I get it.

I need to be at the front door of me

and start the journey right there,

with care, every next step with intention,

as if when I jump into the ocean

eventually, that wave caused by me,

however minute by then,

will reach foreign shores.

we are all such a profound weave of it.

we feel like threads to ourselves

and don't get the feel of the fabric 

that we are,

that covers the planet 

as if a tablecloth setting,

without regard 

for the nature of that setting.

not any more.

I get the see through, 

the backdrop, the back stage.

I will gladly sip on,

but philosophically swallow.

knowing to take strength 

from the potpourri,

even if its the stark of goulash 

to start with.

this is a simple toast,

to open my eyes 

and to realize as the embrace,

from where we come,

as if we are the reckoning

somehow superficially, 

beckoned to be . . .