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.
Days keep moving forward
and still we patiently wait
for another shoe to drop, the
morning alarm, correct words
or proper moment, courtesy
or a cure (at least a sign); we
want to feel safe from harm
or harassment, having already
tasted too much.
We wait for the courage,
attitudes to change, still sensing
delay or simply finding it strange
(and it may ever have been).
We don’t catch a break, can’t get
past the dire situation we were
sure we could easily outlast.
Waiting it out,
we cannot find the time, we
waited too long, yet continue
waiting for minutes to pass.
Waiting for when we will not
have to temper or examine
our response, knowing or
expecting something else is
coming. When will we get there?
Why does it take so long?
Time waits for no one.
We all wait for time.
04/12/2021 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.