Walk On

As she walks by in platform sandals

A portrait of pain and strength

The perseverance is aged by a life lived on tanned feet

Innumerable moments there have been since her fervor has strolled by my door

Timeless panicked seconds when she should stay but still she goes

Not always red, white or blue but forever a rainbow hue

I am needlepoint aware of where she walks today

She strides by with mask on and alms shared

It is not up to me to cast doubt upon whom else be within her infantry

To ponder her journey requires me to be just another enemy

Gifted Gift-er

Had it been a gift.

It would have been for the present.

Yet, so much littered the path.

Like an upholstered couch left in the rain.

A little something for what ails.

But the Gift-er lacks charity…

Thus, a custom design pails.

Gifted Gift-er.

Living like a prodigy mapping out days of solace.

Planning perks from a, lost, no longer enchanted, forest.

In the thicket of flaws.

A present would seem misleading.

In the deep, wood, depth, of despair.

Being found has no meaning.

White Noise in Heaven

phone

Like those who have gone before.

Little time for haste.

For waste.

White noise everywhere.

A traveling companion for despair.

What of the place that heaven indicates?

For those who hesitate.

Exclusive communes,

thanking its visitors for listening.

Fabled messages on hold.

Sounds of lines going dead.

Going cold.

Canterbury NH
Canterbury NH

 

Reasonate

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When the morn writes home.

Should it be written back?

After all, what is in a name?

What of the stray thread?

We find on the floor.

As one is spotted.

Soon,

several more.

 

Collecting friends,

until the end.

Unless their need necessitates someone to defend.

 

Complacency placid with the faceless poor.

Prior to the morn that writes no more.

hey say that time heals all things, they say you can always forget; but the smiles and the tears across the years they twist my heart strings yet! George Orwell
they say that time heals all things,
they say you can always forget;
but the smiles and the tears across the years
they twist my heart-strings yet!
George Orwell

Backwood Indifference

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No assurance, with an azure sky.

As above,

in cobalt when blown in.

A contrasting hue.

My souls conflict only slightly subdued.

All my changes still ahead of an unsteady mind.

Neither a twitch.

Nor,

a nervous tic,

mine to refine.

Hopefully nothing but an admonishing sign.

Protected society of timbered blunders.

Temporary insanity.

In the woods designed to comfort.

Not in the least,

an easy role to play.

The earthy meandering fool.

Vicarious living outside the rules.

Unpredictable.

But somehow, fitting just right.

A game of chance with this thing called, life.