Contentment

I've learned to be happy wherever I'm at.

I don't need stimulation and fanfare.

I can breeze through a novel or stand on Times Square.

And have fun with each woman and man there.

It's a mystery to me how this all comes about,

How I easily exist every day there.

I'm always content to be where I'm at,

But I'm never content to stay there.

It's a silly conclusion that sounds quite bizarre.

Is it possible I am mistaken?

Indeed, do I never become discontent?

Do I never feel frazzled  and shaken?

How does one feel pleased with life, not needing more,

Yet determined not to wallow away there?

How is it today can be just what I want,

But tomorrow I don't want to stay there?

I grasp every tidbit of knowledge I find.

I devour each occasion around me.

I enjoy all the people. I love and I laugh,

Then let absolute silence surround me.

It's because I don't need them to fulfill my life.

I've a Savior that shows me my way there.

I'm always content to be where I'm at,

But I'm never content to stay there.