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.
Refraction. Reflection.
Gradient tones of expression,
landscapes or history,
our light rarely follows a straight line.
Curves. Diagonally,
adjustment required in space or
sign, it seeps through cracks
moves forcefully beyond sublime.
Unusually unaware,
we cannot control the capacity, or
silence, of corresponding darkness.
An unlikely presence of another mind.
Intimacy initially.
To those who dare expose themselves,
our light will not be altered
but eternally fortified.
Transcendent existence,
born unto an incidental state, we
cannot separate stigma from strata.
Dust on the wind, particles of matter.
Fragmentation, alienation,
morals to immortality, holding tight
all we believe is crucial.
Our life rarely follows a straight line.
©2018 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.