Bright western sunsets,

Face an empty patio.

It does not take long,

For our laughter to shatter

The night sky into starlight.

See the 

World below,

Drift away 

Without effort,

Take flight 

Into blue,

Skies gilded 

Silver and white,

Backlit by a 

Golden sun.

Past my reflection,

Beyond the mirrored surface,

Lives another world,

Linking all humanity,

Understood mostly by fish.

Candles all aglow,

Laughter and good company,

Warm Taco Thursdays, 

These simple things make moments,

That bring me that hygge feel.

I would like to make,

A suggestion to the world,

In the routine rush,

Slow down your everyday roll,

Take time to smell the roses.

The pen has dried up.
No more ink flows to the page.
Does this mean the end?
Will it not get up and dance?
No, I just need ink refills.

By our sunset gate,
The Mother of Exiles weeps –
Weeps for her children,
Both for the fearful elder,
And the youngest just off shore.

What amazes her:
Fear is no substitute for,
“The New Colossus,”
And the elder’s prejudice,
Does not ring true in her heart.

No, not in this house.
Here, at this Golden Doorway,
We do bathe in fear,
Nor do we take in those ships
Whose standard bears such hatred.

With these silent lips-
Nay, they cannot be silent!
We are guardians!
Tempest-tost we may have been,
But now we hold high the torch!