The sun’s now high, the night was long,
and the urge to rise is growing strong.
Weary eyes open to a day that’s new.
Yesterday’s past when choices few.
Life, it seems, is full of turns.
Seconds wander the watchful learns.
Tomorrow’s imagined now in sight,
the fog clearing, and the future bright.
Optimism wanes when pessimism gains,
the pressure builds within our brains.
Awaken now to a time at ease,
enjoy this moment, if you please.
The night was black and eerily still,
sensations naught but for the chill.
The fog then quickly settles in.
It is death but for the din.
With nowhere left to run or go.
A silence welcomes from far below.
Or follow the sounds of mournful screams,
awakened to a life of no one’s dreams.
Nightmares seep with a shuttered mind.
Yet sweetly we rest when freedom we find.
Tomorrows beat within our hearts.
Open eyes see bright, new starts.
But it is sleep where we all do dwell,
our futures told of heaven and hell.
We’ll meet the many never to know.
Then in a blink it’s the end of our show.
When we wake a dimension’s gone.
Feeling flat upward we’re drawn.
We rise to heights imagined by one.
The world awaits, our day begun
Tread the paths, both waning and worn.
Use your sharpness when you’re torn.
And sleep will guide us to our core.
But time awake always one third more.
I sit at the kitchen table waiting for thoughts to come.
So far none’s forthcoming; I’m hoping there’ll be some.
Time is quickly passing as I stare off into space.
If wasting time were a sport I know I’d win the race.
But words don’t run on tracks and thoughts know no time.
But if patience is a virtue then waiting is no crime.
Procrastination is a different thing, results will find away.
It’s a choice that we make to give away our say.
Yesterdays’ may be gone but our actions will remain.
Mistakes made along the way will leave a lasting stain.
We wake each day to change, thinking everything’s the same.
But time moves only forward and tomorrows’ we cannot tame.
We’ll take our deepest breath and dive in head first.
We try to make the biggest splash to satisfy our thirst.
The volumes fill up fast, their content is our own.
The good we see in others reflects on how we’ve grown.
The time is getting late and I’m fading fast.
Why must the future wait while sleeping off the past?
So I’ll wait another day for something new to write.
The winter blues are passing and mornings looking bright.
Optimism’s on the rise though heights often chill.
Pessimism is an easy fall but the bottom is no thrill.
Windows will soon be open and fresh starts will appear.
And those webs in the attic just need the spring to clear.
Creativity: Unifying mental and physical chaos
Worldview: Canvas painted with our souls
Irony: Burning holes in permanent press
Pessimism: Painting watercolors in the rain
Poetry: Naked emotion wrapped in lace