A kindness fruit I could scarce eat
and frolic healthy for a month,
granting smiles at the thought
those words are genuine —
Yet wine I sometimes waste those fruits
trampling sweetness for self-pity,
and words which nourish souls for days
can’t satiate a wrath so petty.
Some days are just a struggle against your own worst self I guess. Winning that battle alone is an achievement in its own right.
Survives the green of pines
amidst the endless grays
of brutal winds and clouded hope,
so ever stoic, unafraid —
But bloom do cherry blossoms
when light and life resumes,
a beauty in their brevity,
heedless that tomorrow looms.
Does it make sense to ask which lives a preferable life?
Concern yourself with not my life,
Nor stray a thought of my affairs,
For friend, and former love, alas,
Forgetting waives a heart’s despair;
But should a whim compel us heave,
A casual strolling through past lifetimes,
Would best recall those flitting scenes
Embellished by a garnished sweet lime.
He wished for wisdom, but not the will to use it.
Can I command myself forget?
A lesser yearning, just an ounce,
as steady past as moments fade
before the ceaseless seconds’ count;
That rainy days may bring a peace
devoid of longing, just blank joy,
each splashing drop massaging
away the soothing of your voice;
Can I command myself forget?
The days like whispers, poorly-pieced,
to which in sorrow I’ll consign,
and to the writings I concede;
Perfection then the past that was
where memory’s grasp is dark.
And so I asked for the impossible, half-heartedly. No wonder why the only outcome possible left the mind lamenting.
We learned in life too late
the profoundness of an hour,
and only near the close of day
before our ghost call hither —
We learned too late indeed,
but only from high vantage,
the day has some light yet
for life to take advantage.
Uninspiring days of late, but that’s mostly just my current perspective. I can do better.
The tunnel’s light shone bright as hope
unblemished by the heat of suns
passing over by for many seasons,
yet unacknowledged were those burns —
The tunnel’s light shone bright in turn
that we so near will soon embrace it,
arrived at last beyond the darkened walls,
from blind to blinded in our awe.
It was never about youth, just youthfulness.
When I made friends with my own Life,
I asked where we went wrong:
That decade passing by
was one nap missed since yesterday,
and more hairs turning gray today
than memories turning dull
with Autumn’s last goodbyes —
But still, still patient is this Life,
as malcontent as motivated:
We might just order salad yet.
“Miles to go before I sleep” – so it goes, and so too I must keep moving.
I borrow from a debt deferred,
whose time comes unannounced,
but such its paltry interest
that hardly did I doubt
a splurging day or week of treats
those sleepless nights didn’t count —
And such has grown its toll in light
that no swindler could conceive,
yet old a tale as debt to self,
it never fails to bring new griefs.
Fight for today then; that’s my next play until I get to where I need to be.
Cozy is the privileged view
of snow beyond the window,
serene the afternoon
with sips of tea too mellow,
from such a dimming day
would sigh to rest encumbered
watching safely in the warmth,
both shielded and yet hollow.
One day at a time. 4 hours still at least. I have only myself to excuse.
Somewhere just beyond the minute’s reach
where splashing waves and shimmers beckon,
that waiting there, held mutual gazes,
we understood without words spoken —
But here, enveloped in a sleepless hour’s hold
where empty airs would wind and circulate,
a thought was free, but lost the same,
what day and dame did not reciprocate.
“If only you would know // the things I long to say…”