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.
Fractured Silence
Stars have neither the nerve nor
the courtesy of shedding any light.
We walk on streets with names,
but none with faces.
The architecture of emptiness,
I struggle with the night. We exist,
but how, in concrete spaces.
Fractured silence, wilted shadows
precede another day. Our time
pressed beneath glass. Only
a collection, hardly a recollection.
Whether we do
or whether we will,
is this what was meant to be,
is that how I am meant to feel?
Through bitter truth I learn
love lies, bleeding still, unnoticed
then by weary eyes.
Come the morning,
what do you see? Is it
a likely ever after, or a promise
you still can’t believe,
© 2015 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
something new every day
Spread the words
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.