An endless walk
Or so it would regard us
Without thoughtfullness
It marches side by side us
Ready to strike at the heart.
Category: Poetry
Time slips through fingers
Like a handful of warm sand
Each grain falling away
Yet as empty as I feel
Time clings under fingernails
The hour has not changed
I will convince myself that
Time does not matter
Even as the clock repeats
A second round of midnight
Paper crumpled like
Mushrooms surrounding a stump
Shaped like a waste bin
Blue ink across the white
Words some might call “poetry”
What am I, a square?
No, I am rectangular,
Of little value,
Albeit might when joined,
Pluralizing your old word.
Possibility
My greatest weakness hands down
Regardless the time
Dreaming up what could be is
So fascinating to me
May I hold onto
These small memories with you
To chase the darkness
Away so we can relax
Bathed in afternoon sunlight
Sunlight will be
We can always go back home
Oh Wow! I just saw
Beauty and her best friend in
The bay of green tea roses
Handed out in pairs
Around a felted table
Hearts blinding our eyes
Big or small or dealer dealt
Always all in on five-four
What weekend wonders,
Await me on Saturday?
And will they be kept,
Secret until Sunday Eve?
Or even worse, Monday morn!