The mess of breathing

And where are "we" in the mess of breathing?

Who am "I" to you?

A solid source of days long gone....

A memory that adds to you?

Are you a pretty face and a pleasant glance, with kind words that gives direction too?

In my life,do your efforts keep me from drowning in a sea of "me"

Have I ever said anything that gave life to an automatic display of hope, of embellished thoughts, that today.... This day.... They will know my efforts and my love?

With time and life being as it is I'm sure you've resurrected me from chaos, and idol fancy.

Your tiny question has been my saving grace.

Have I seen you fall to other's demands?

Have I offered my hand?

My love I know what is pressed upon you.

And I indeed offer my hand.

I offer life in service to your demands.

To go alone is chosen, to accept help is not a fashion, to know the life in me also sustains you is against fashion.

I press against fashion.

The life in your eyes sustains me.

A meal prepared and time offered presses me.

The good in you and that you shared creates "me" in the mess of breathing.

Bless you all.