The Weight of Gravity

Life whispers, Be here, now.
The breath of this moment,
the sunlight slicing through blinds,
the hum of your own pulse—
this is all that exists.

Yet, somewhere, beyond
the reach of our skin,
an infinity expands —
untouchable, unknowable,
demanding our reverence.

We are told:
plant your feet in the soil of today,
feel the dirt between your toes,
but don’t forget
the stars burning light-years away.
Carry the weight of eternity
while dancing in seconds.

How cruelly beautiful
this contradiction—
to be both sand and mountain,
raindrop and ocean,
a fleeting ember
in an unending fire.

We chase permanence
with hearts built to break,
build monuments to memory
on the soft soil of now.
We are asked to hold the infinite,
but it slips,
always slips
through the cracks of our fingers.

Still, we try.
We inhale the present
and exhale a prayer
to eternity,
knowing we’ll never
truly
understand either.