behind door number one…

i’ve begun
to question
the value of these
heart beats
one
after
the other
wondering
if the next one
is going
to offer
some hidden purpose
to my life
or
whether
they are mere
rhythmic patterns
denoting
that
i
should continue on
seeking
my own purpose
and
be not reliant
upon
the heart
to tell me
what
to do
nor
wait for
the mind
to
reveal
what i must
create
on
my own

chromatic word syndrome…

i wonder sometimes
what is the color of words
that some can’t be heard
leaving lips with the same sounds
yet no audience is found

postponements…

life’s faded
to-do list
held in hands
marred
by time
once strong line
discolored
by
hope’s tears
over the years
promises
made
and sought
now
for naught
an
old man
his mirror
a last friend

liberty’s wildfire…

once the glow
from her lamp
offered
the warmth
of hope
for
freedom
and
sanctuary
from
the flames
of
religious persecution
but
now
it has
a garish glow