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.
In the bigger picture there is love.
In this life there is evil, hatred, and death.
Even greater misfortunes compound and
threaten our existence. Inconceivably so.
Wars rage against humanity, our prayers
for peace continually ignored.
I cannot understand what I can do.
Unfortunate we can’t feel it all, or feel at all,
through the depths of desolation and abomination
we read about or view on technicolor screens
within our comfortable existence on
this side of the planet.
This uncomfortable world.
I feel hopeless when I want to feel love.
Hatred has spread like ash across the globe with
a greater vengeance than the fires that consumed us
throughout the year. Fingertips trace our hopes,
deftly scratching the surface, a dignified definition
we can only dream on. The climate has changed
geopolitically and environmentally.
I can’t understand the cause.
I cannot comprehend the convictions.
Humankind needs to scratch deeper; we need to feel.
We cannot accept that which we do not understand.
I can only want love, even more than peace.
I hear the cries, even from a distance.
Still, we watch. And still we wait, understandably so.
© 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.