How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
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.
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.
Like everybody else, I exist
in the now. Where I have been
does not indicate where I will go,
and all I have known will be
a portion of all that I know.
Yet, all that is there is subject to
change. My terms and conditions
will, no doubt, be rearranged
to accommodate fears, and folly,
and facts still uncertain, as I
realize or discover my potential
inertia. Matter it is, matter
it does. I am not yesterday, nor
am I today. Tomorrow is
simply another way. Time will
not determine where I will go, or
whether I stay. Who I am now
is not all you need know, anyway.
I am more than I thought;
I am all I am not.
01/13/2018 j.g.l.
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.