Day: September 7, 2024

Relies

There’s a quiet in the darkness,
our sun yet to rise.
Beauty’s still in hiding,
only truth’s before our eyes.
~
Soon the dawn will beckon,
shedding the world’s disguise.
Silence then a memory,
light exposing the lies.
~
The world now filled with sunshine,
always a pleasant surprise.
Then we wait for the sunset,
again to feel we’re wise.
~
By day we have distraction,
evenings we revise.
Sleep brings us solace,
giving strength to ask the whys.
~
Questions fill our heads,
life’s answers we surmise.
Half asleep or awake,
tomorrow is our prize.

~*~
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Breathless

breathless

Summer’s last breathe breathes the chill of fall.
I wait to answer while I wait to call.
Do we both anxiously check our phone?
Who’ll call first, who’s alone.
~
Does she weep, does she wonder?
Does she care or does she wander?
What is she thinking? I’d love to know.
A mere breathe and my breeze will blow.
~
And the waves of emotion may roll or crash,
castles of sand always gone with a splash.
Beach balls aloft have destinations to guess.
And I left to fill another, till breathless.

~*~
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Symptomatic

The day was young and the coffee’s old.
The season’s new and the outside’s cold.
The inside’s warm so in I’ll stay.
I’m not feeling well this chilly day.
~
I brewed some more and drink it all.
Saving none then duty did call.
Then back to bed, or at least I thought.
I forgot what excess has often taught.
~
I tossed and turned for a little too long.
Then to the bathroom, but nothing’s wrong.
I needed a tissue for a sneeze I felt coming.
Proven right the sensation was numbing.
~
My plans now nixed, the sniffles persisted.
Medicine taken, their side-effects listed.
I’ve started to doze and none too soon.
Please wake me up before the spring moon.

~*~
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Fickle Things

Most can speak yet few can sing, 
because fate can be a fickle thing.
But if by chance or if it by fate, 
results will come and will not wait.
~*~
We all get sick though not our yearning.
Some get battered by never learning.
Most get better most get well, 
for some it lingers, feeling like hell.
~*~
Whilst a moderate wind sets a boat’s pace, 
a mighty gale will end their race.
And the autumn breeze’s enjoyed by all.
But pray for calm to end our fall.

~*~
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