the words appear like an artist’s sketch

fine curves and heavy accents,

all suggesting a word,

defining a line,

as life goes wandering past us all

we find words to describe

our insides to our exterior

and somewhere behind,

where lay

the heart and soul.

Our lives are made up of

descriptions, a memoriam and a funny story.

We live the same lives

just some of us experience

them more deeply

than others might.

We all still find ourselves

wandering through avenues of thought,

trying to decide which to go forward with today.

We never really know

until we decide this is the moment,

and step forward please.

When writing on paper

we at least have the chance

to draw pretty little pieces

of words to think about.

some words would play

wanting only a place to lay

not simply on display

We that would follow

Mellow tone of a signal

Leave hearts less hollow

On the way to

finding peace,

I tripped

I fell off course.

I really wasn’t sure

how to get back on track

I had come too far

to let myself

fall back again.

It was like

all of the decisions

have been made

I can’t turn back anymore.

As much as I wanted

to think differently,

every word I wrote

seemed fraudulent.

I had no recourse

no one to ask.

I only had myself,

and I was the hardest

one to convince.

I could keep on trying,

but it all seemed

to be in vain.

I came to terms

with having to stop

and that’s where I landed

today.

If

Trace steps,

watch life

in a mirror.

Action speaks

time remembers.

If I could

forget everything I did,

would walks in the wood

let life return.

Just to hear you say it …

If, ‘we could matter.’

I can’t stop speaking about it

my own, what ifs.

I can only retrace my steps and

wish you might

walk alongside me

again.

There’s a bridge

I remember.

Oh to speak the words that love will employ

To know that all we wish to do is sigh,

compelled by the answers we know not why

yet that life be filled by comfort and joy.

~

There is quick wit to the words we do use

meant to crown our glimpse upon a pattern

of life only suggests how we may turn

this into worry; lost in want refuse.

~

Time takes our lives fraught, concerned and worry

that we shallow now in graves of deceit

find only despair in such conflicts we meet

with derision, fear, instincts we bury.

~

Oh to know the history of that glove

that sweet analogy her mystique, love.

I was loud for a long time,

in constant sound

amplifying my pain,

until no reach could be found.

See it wasn’t that subtle,

my reaction to pain,

I simply wanted to hurt,

wanted everyone to know.

I don’t know how to backtrack

everything is there

for my closest allies

to know and reflect upon.

Now I want to change

wondering if there is time

people say it begins today,

staying present, peace of mind.

I wish I knew

how to speak in tune

rather than disarray and chaos,

I do wish I could speak again.

Watching lives,

pass by,

getting the groceries,

saying goodbye.

Empty, lots and memories.

We hold onto them

as long as we can,

always hoping

might be another time

when a melody

would hold something

someone

valuable in our lives.

Empty, lots and memories.

Give me a place to

go home to tonight,

always waiting,

sitting under the lights

watching lives float by.

Where everyone

gets the concept.

We all have our battles,

the battle to get out of bed

the battle to give ourselves nutrition

the battle to believe in ourselves,

oh to make a list

and never stop finding.

What is it we look for,

who is it we find,

why is it we can’t stop

thinking about our wine.

There are so many avenues

when it comes to knowing love,

we all have the courage

we all know the rules,

yet we so often forget ourselves,

trying to find the clues.

When at the end of the day,

the sun is going down,

the stars are about to light

in their cosmos,

an eternal flame,

when we all stop and observe,

when we decide to listen,

we can’t help there is a common

nature about ourselves.

If we can for a moment

step off our pedestal

and join the crowd,

maybe love then might exist.

When life takes a break,

sets aside a need to compel

only respects time

as will find some peace.

The planting is

meant for another time,

this crop needs to heal

allow itself to replenish

it’s soils and nitrates

and everything that gives life

to future produce.

Sometimes the mind is like

a fallowed field

needing to reinspire

the drive that makes our lives

worth living.

In the field

life does exist in

not quite a

sedentary form

more a resurgence

of truth and wholeness.

There is a mystique in patience

like sweet the fields of grain.