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.
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
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.
Conscious thought of a subconscious mind, interrupting
the darkness or absence of time
night thoughts are deceptive.
As scattered as they can be
they are real; darkness is as honest
as it is lonely, as remorseful as comforting.
Night thoughts.
Do they lead you to dreams, or are they derived from them?
The night is a question as much as an answer.
Night knows no apologies, nor offers excuses for simplicity
or indulgence.
A contradiction,
night is a many splendored thing.
It knows tears,
it knows laughter,
neither with overfamilarity or routine.
It is as it is.
You would be the change
It is personal.
Night offers the chance to say the same thing twice, but
denies an opportunity for the thought to hold
the same meaning all over again,
or for you to even make sense of the words.
Night knows daylight only as an interruption.
Night is free of distractions
except nighttime itself.
© 2021 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.