viewing point…

viewing point

each of
life’s
travellers
pauses
to survey
the path
that
they’ve travelled
some marvel
that
they’ve survived
the climb
through rough terrain
full of hazards
and
hostile actions
but
they quickly turn
and
continue on
others
tarry there
when they look back
numb
and
unable to relinquish
the view
since the journey
has been
so easy
and
full of lovely scenes
and
moments
they wish to relive
so
they stand there
looking back
for the rest
of
their existence
others
linger there
overwhelmed
by
their painful journey
unable to separate
yesterday’s pain
from
tomorrow’s promise
so
they lie down
exhausted
choosing
to die
where they are

freedom’s evolution…

freedom's evolution

i’ve begun
to
count
the number
of
pleats
in
my
bedroom curtains
with each
recount
the number
remains
the same
i was certain
that
the winds
of
time
would alter
it
in some way
but
the number
has
not
changed
then
i started counting
the lives lost
of those
who
believed
they were free
or
just wanted to be
and soon
i lost count

 

 

soul’s solitary confinement…

soul's solitary confinement

rusted prayers
like
night smoke rings
leave the lips
as
an offering
to
the void 
of
hope
prayers
in
a voice
as dry
as
the barren fields
where
dreams
were planted
were that
the bed’s pillow
were
the land
it would yield
a bountiful crop
and then
there would be
no
lonely nights

 

 

some kind of how…

some kind of how2

not much
to
look at
a struggling plant
in
a plastic
abandoned pot
but
i’d argue
it’s
a thing
of
beauty
for
that little sprig
signifies
resilience
and hope
and
maybe
just maybe
we’ll
be able
to engender
the same
characteristics
in
our lives