I breathe

I breathe


I breathe into the icy cold of winter,

The skin-tingling freeze of early morning cold showers,

deeply and fully, down into my belly

I breathe into accepting my final fate of death,

Always close, just behind my shoulder. Closer now.

I breathe without fear into a future I can

But barely control, a present that slip-slides from my grasp,

A past that can never be altered, only accepted.


I breathe into a world that,

But for a few friends and my creed,

Cares not the faintest fuck for me

I inhale its indifference and

Sigh out its pain, this era of greed

Squeezing the last cent from misery


With my breath I accept

Pain, aging, sickness, frailty

There’s no way past or around them

I’ll pass like ash, the wind


I breathe into the sunrise

The hope that accompanies it

A million songs from a thousand distant radio stations


Steady breaths now, accepting my

Blunt imagination, my misty path forward,

Is it me that’s lost, or suddenly, all of us?

Mundane footsteps, wilting desire

Soaking up stories on the evening screen

I’ve lived a thousand others’ lives

Wrinkled wisdoms, wasted insight


I breathe into my new work-bot self

Tasks pile on top of me, I must remain calm

What’s there to do out there anyway?

The whole world is on hold, catching its breath

When I cough, is it a portent of my death?

I breathe into a mask that fogs my face

A gesture to say I care, I obey

Caution or fear? Caution, and fear?

There’s way too much confusion here


I breathe to stoke the fire in my chest

Kindled with my very first breath









2 thoughts on “I breathe”

  1. This is wonderful Derek. It really expresses how we are all feeling. where is that line between being sensible and being a wimp? How do we remember to live when our minds are straining against the cage? Focusing on the breath is exactly the right way, how we forget whilst collapsing in on ourselves. Inspiring.

  2. In the beginning was the word. Sure, that’s scripture. But it couldn’be more poignant. The Milk Yell. The Bowel painscreech. The “adult noise is too loud for infant ears”.

    Grênd IK sê. Wordsmiths. We bash the white hot flexible minerals into shape on the cruel rigid anvil of predictable resistance.

    Your journal entry does me a power of good. Gewd. Selah.Thankyou Derek Davey.
    Mahala (J)

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