I recommend this practice. I sit here feeling what it would be if these were my last moments, if this breath were my last. How precious life becomes. And what would I want to say with my last breaths?
I suggest writing poems or thoughts in this way as a path to something deep within. If nothing else, it opens one's eyes to the beauty of this moment, the spaciousness and contraction of each breath.
For me, today's poems begin with: 64 years and 54 days. I realize now I could figure out the days and minutes, but, for now, I find this precise enough. Oh, the math on days is not that hard, except there are leap years in there. Let's say approximately 33,414 days if I did the math right. I didn't count the gift of the leap year days.
That's a lot of days. Imagine if I counted the minutes. Have I fully appreciated each one of these days? I hope so. It certainly is a great many. You see why my being is filled with tears, with the moisture of gratitude. Today I am a lake, the sea, mountains, sand.