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.
At dawn,
let’s not forget
what was said, what was planned,
what was dreamed, or
who we are.
The night has a way
of stirring emotions, and
leaving out details,
the spirit only knows.
At dusk,
let’s not forget
what was said, what was not,
what was ignored, or
where we were.
The day has a way
of repeating the same mistakes
in details only
the spirit knows.
03/04/2019 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.
2 replies on “Mondays are just young Fridays”
I figure you write because it’s part of you; you can’t help yourself. It’s like breathing. I read you every day. I just want to say I appreciate you being in my email box each morning.
thank you