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.
What we narrate, curate
or choreograph
maintains its presence in
the greater expanse of
a life lived. Might we forget
the details amidst the corruption
and careless contamination
of years passed by,
or people passed over,
the quintessence of the event
still rings rather true.
We may wish to
languish over one memory
or another faithfully captured in
our psyche; much to remember,
forever is an awful long time.
We still live with
the consequences, occasionally
reminded of desperate attempts
to alter our way, tact
or approach, but little
can be changed of what
has been ingrained.
We live with it,
our restless reality lasting
much longer than we give
ourselves credit for.
04/24/2023 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.