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.
We cling to memories, even
subconsciously. Certain days,
and not always, continually play
with our unruled emotions.
Incidents of bliss, specific sorrows
or worse, leave lasting impressions.
It cannot be helped. We live through
experience: yesterday and today.
Reflected in our fragile faith is
a greater hope. We often do not,
or cannot, see past our cold,
current, restless reality.
It is not the truth that provides
our answers, but an unclear
deception of the question
lingering in our consideration.
Us fractured selves, not always
strong and stable, survive by
constructing our foundation of
what we see and how we know.
Hindsight is not honestly accurate.
May your need for yesterday
be slightly overshadowed by
the wistful wonder of tomorrow.
© 2023 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.