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
Slow down: even with the ideas that come to quicky. Take the time to acknowledge the feelings that arrive, as they arrive.
Write it down. How else will you remember what you were thinking?
Print neatly. You hardly understand the thoughts at the time, why make it more difficult to comprehend weeks or years from now?
Follow your own logic; only you need to truly make sense of what is happening, or all that has happened.
Pay attention to the lessons of the past. Be mindful that not all are worth repeating.
Clarity. Make corrections as you go. Flaws become more difficult to correct the longer you live with them.
11/14/2024 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.
Clocks set back, days ahead altered
as if time can be held, still
we cannot fool ourselves in believing.
The sun will still set.
We seldom lose hours as much as
we change our trajectory.
It will get darker, before you know.
The sun will still rise.
Between where and then, light will
strike any object in its path
as long as it is able. Faithfully, we watch.
The sun sets.
This autumn, this November,
carries a tone of melancholy.
Steadfast, I can only stare back.
The sun rises.
I know about fear, or fear what I know.
Remnants of the day,
routinely, have so much less to offer.
The sun will still set.
When all that you know becomes
all that you have, you are
unable to consider possibility.
The sun will still rise
We live and breathe, twenty-four hours
daily. Memory will serve us;
those uncertain, those unbroken.
© 2019 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.