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.
I see kindness behind a mask, care
or concern, no reason to ask
why. Or why bother?
Now, a million deaths.
I’ve heard the results. I’ve listened
to excuses, yet cannot understand
all they talk about;
those who dare, and those who
won’t wear a mask.
It is simple.
This virus spreads, like hate.
Both will kill. Neither will wait
for understanding. It’s not right.
It is not fair.
We all watch these people who
won’t disguise their sickness behind a mask,
as if it is a bother, too great a task
to comprehend
people are dying. Our humanity loses
a little each time.
We are all at risk, a point they miss,
these cowards who find comfort in
conspiracy.
Or jealousy
of those who belong, or empathize,
with others. We all need be concerned.
Is it political, or a stereotypical
example of a malignant soul who cares
only for self.
Not lack of intelligence,
but an insignificant mind.
I look and I wonder
what did this to them, or did they do it
to themselves?
It is not obvious, yet I can easily see
the ignorance they don’t bother to hide.
©2020 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.