Secrets are rarely as heavy as
the weight we assign to them.
The gravity of circumspect
plays out, time and again. It is
what we carry as we decide
what crosses, or is held within,
our moral divide.
Sit with it for a while, moved
only when memory comes into
play; last night, or the other, or
any other day.
09/05/2024 j.g.l.
When you are not ready to say
all you need to say, you remain
unable to feel all you are
meant to feel.
Joy, relief, compassion,
beliefs, unobtainable all in the
truest sense. Your solitude, like
a sin, stays locked inside.
Unbidden, personal inquisition
only you can reply to, abiding
precious time.
09/03/2024 j.g.l.
Treat others
as you would
treat yourself.
Share when you can.
Kindness has no season,
but is best served
with appreciation.
Gratitude does not
need a reason, but
the taste will last
a very long time.
Be thankful.
09/02/2024 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.
I have never been this age before; that itself a reason for celebration
or concern. I suppose it depends on how you look at past days and years
and the many more to come. My mindset matters with all considerations
of what is going on nowadays with others as much as myself. Life is good.
Years ago, and I can’t specifically recall how many they were or how
many times, I wondered what it would be like when I was older.
I am now, but perhaps not as old as I thought, or as I expected, or
what I was thinking. What is old? What should it feel like? Why?
In a decade or so will I consider old to be what I am, or what I was?
What am if I do not question what I am, if not where I am, in the
grand scheme of life? It’s the way it should be, naturally or curiously,
as we question life and how we should be living. Shouldn’t we?
© 2024 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.