sixtieth

if i counted up the weeks
would they allow me peace
to trespass my hollowed mind
how many breaths i’ve taken
as granted as the sun rises
maybe now i understand
the little things add up
even if they aren’t counted
never put in front
seen only to those attentive
to small actions underneath
the brevity of ignorance
befallen upon those within
man made confines
of walls adorn of strokes
the meaning assumed
though never fully reached
if the time is skipped then
what matter is it now
to set aside and wonder
if the next action
is the right one
if the next breath
is the last one