Why is it that I can feel heat and cold but not the perfect temperature?
I can feel stuffed and starving but not fed? Feast and famine but not the simple meal?
I feel strength and weakness but ignore my daily health.
I dread loneliness and crave romantic intoxication but do nothing with love's existence.
If only I could consider what is, the endless gratitude that would ensue, rather than what is not.
For if that which is not, was, even then it would not be considered.
<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015