Drums pound.
The world is dark
save for the moon
and the clouds
moving too fast
across its face
Hours pass and years
mistakes are written
and erased, written and erased
and rewritten again.
Life fritters away
to nothing but
a dozen or so
cheap party tricks
without punch line or
any discernible moral value
and what it all comes down to
in the end
is how many times you’ve
held your breath
and prayed for
a single moment to last
for all the rest
of the moments
you have left.
Isn’t that living?
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
nice, especially the last several lines. heard someone say a couple days ago: “life should not be measured by the number of breaths you take, but by how many moments take your breath away.” yeah. ’bout right.
It is absolutely living. And for us creative types, often agony…
So you did find something to write. I love it.
I love the phrase about life being a series of party tricks. So true.