A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 j.g. lewis
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
When does a wave become a wave and when
is it only water When does a thought
become an idea or when is it simply fodder for creations and goals
is it only a dream when is what is
just as it seems
If you know what you know and still can’t see through
do you wait and only wonder if there is more you can do
Where are the signs you have got it all wrong
if you think through the process and it seems too far gone
Who can decide if you can’t see your self
What can you say when there is no one to tell
Does blood in the vein know you exist
will the heart continue beating beyond the eclipse Can August as
we know it ever spill into June
and how can forever feel like it is soon
How could we tell through the sun-drenched illusions
Why would I stop you
from jumping
to conclusions
When does a breath become a sharp gasp and how
will you know if it will be your last
So little is written and so much is said
you can’t pull it together nor find a thread of truth
beyond passion a sole purpose you know
How can you be sure when you say it is so
Do you take words at face value can you
know what they mean
you speak them so often just like it seems
science keeps trying to convince us the sun will get hotter
Will it bring us more waves or
bring us
more water
?
© 2016 j.g. lewis
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
One reply on “Just Like It Seems”
This is my brain… every morning at 3am. What a beautiful piece this is.