Years are not proof of a life truly lived they are only some kind of illusion of time, a calendar full of life that ticks loud but the heart remains oddly undistributed
Years are not proof of a life truly lived they are only some kind of illusion of time, all the years might pass with motion but none with meaning like wind through a hollow tree
Years are not proof of a life truly lived they are only some kind of illusion of time, yet she’d never chased her dreams, never lit her fire, never climbed or dared to climb the things she wanted…
Some lives ring louder than the length they were given, wrote books, hugged strangers, climbed peaks, forgave enemies, never once played the game of regret
Some lives ring louder than the length they were given, when people speak his name it sounds like a bell rung by memory’s steady hand
Some lives ring louder than the length they were given, leaves crater through meaning of love, of effort that humbles those living meekly more than most of do…
Presence multiplies the minutes we are given as we become infinite in the now, by pouring all we are into what we do as we become infinite in the now
Presence multiplies the minutes we are given as we become infinite in the now, we make the moment sacred by surrendering fully even to the mundane
Presence multiplies the minutes we are given as we become infinite in the now, scrubbing floors, writing noted, reading books, building things not for fame but for one’s being whole…
A life well lived outlives as we don not choose the length only the act, the candle burns regardless of our plans as the end comes wether or not we feel strong
A life well lived outlives as we don not choose the length only the act, but either way it comes as what you do now matters for more that what you delay
A life well lived outlives as we don not choose the length only the act, the truth lands softer or like a hammer depending on the day so pour it in, all of it, no matter how quietly we live…
The person who stood by us in dark hours ask nothing but gave much
Statues crumble and stories fade but impact of a kind hand stays
In those who helped us rise, to breathe, to fight, to see life in new ways
To hold still and in choosing focus, we declare war in apathy and win
