Life comes and goes,
Without rhyme or reason
Or even a whisper of arrival.
He just happens.
We never see him enter or leave,
But he certainly does
Enter and leave in his own time.
When he arrives,
We barely blink at his presence.
When he leaves,
We suddenly turn to see his empty chair,
Casually pushed up against the wall,
Like he was waiting for us to approach,
He with no intention of doing so.
He waits for us to make the move-
Yet we don't, and Life gets up and leaves.
We waste his time by leaving him alone,
Letting him sit back and wait for us to be done
Running our own lives. He wants
To take control, like a pilot waiting for the rookie
To get out of his rightfully-earned seat
So he can guide the plane home safely.
Life knows where to lead us-
What roads to take, what choices to make-
And we tell him to go away and
We make all the wrong moves.
His only question is
Why do we do that?