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.
Dense fog obliterates the beginning of our day,
surrounded by pavement and landscape with little snow to
track where we have been or what we need to know. Without
a true north to guide our direction, we are pulled further
into this element of fear. Who do, or can, we hold dear.
Winter now that of a librarian’s hush; a hint of caution but
nothing to heed, not as such. Many of us decided not to listen.
Complicit in our actions or intent, the atmosphere has
become veiled in a chorus of disjointed voices, more
about the chosen and less about the choices.
Each of us comes from somewhere else. It is how we have
grown, forever going anywhere new instead of finding
our way home. Making friendly with strangers we never
really got to know, nothing comes from nothing
and we have so little to show.
Lessons learned in how we’ve lost control of our lives, liberty
being not about how we live but how we will die. Temporary
lapse of judgement or time, conscience, or reason. We truly
have no idea what to expect of the day, of ourselves,
or the remainder of the season.
© 2017 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.