… there’s still life ahead
Nothing about me
Can help you “fix” you,
Save possibly
The striking manner in which
I model my brokenness
For many and sundry to see,
Providing you leave to think that
Having sharp edges or accretions
Doesn’t make you defective,
It just means you lived through the cold,
And it has left its characteristic
Marks
Another phase, another type of platform,
A place to launch, a time to say goodbye;
A thousand things we meant to do, but didn’t,
The Fir-tree and The Catcher In The Rye
The literary lessons learned in losing,
The hopes of soaring ‘neath a brand new sky —
Another phase, another type of platform,
A place to launch, a time to say
Goodbye
a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight of fears;
some scattered days of hope within
and dozen months of tears —
a dread that’s born of emptiness,
a questioning of worth:
a plague of such anxiety
as rends the very earth.
the colors of accomplishment,
ineptitude, or both;
the tearing sound that signifies
both injury and growth —
the hotel with its silence, or
the spotlight with its cheers —
a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight
of fears
© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Redhead girl with wet hair sits in the bath full of water with m
The paint begins to peel
Our stories start to fade
Our colors start to dim
Our fabrics degrade
But that can never mean
Though time be overriding
That paintings aren’t worth paint
A battles aren’t
Worth
Fighting
The evening fast approaches, headed home,
Out on a country road that’s new to me;
I see a house and wonder who might live
In such a place, on such a property
And who I’ll never see or ever know.
Our interwoven web of place, milieu —
Where some lines meet awhile, and then part,
While others never touch, but
Almost do
“A battlefield this was”
Is likely true
Most everywhere we go
If we just knew.
But history, at least
What we discuss
Or think about, must
Somehow concern us.
But empathy, perspective –
These can grow –
Just know to think
‘Bout what you think
You know
“Amidst the deep’ning blue”…
Last night, we saw a streaming pod of sky whales
They drifted by so placid and at ease;
A thousand tiny stars came out behind them
Amidst the deep’ning blue of heaven’s seas
And all the world was quiet right around us
Except their distant cries, so faint to hear:
And we were left in awe and silent wonder
Out on the ocean of
The atmosphere
