We have faith.
We have doubts,
commensurate
with
unknown fears and
undetermined factors.
That which you feel
I see as well,
differently.
We pretend
we belong.
In many ways
we share the same grief.
We are afraid of
all the wrong things.
We doubt
our faith.
Everything is temporary,
even our fears.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
Lives forged by experience, altered
by those who encounter
the same things at the same time.
Friendships mark our years, hold us
accountable to our humanity.
We discover most friends
mainly by accident. Circumstance
or circumspect, intimacy implied by
mere presence, accepted as we walk,
as we talk, as we see
the same things at the same time.
We come to trust,
offer what little we know, barter
our wisdom with that which may be
only an illusion of understanding.
An exchange in kind, shared
timidly at first. We are vulnerable,
to the same things, at the same time.
Kindred, courageous souls;
they too must confide, you try
to be worthy. With neither pride,
nor modesty, we place value on that
which lies before us.
Lives shift, locations change, yet
displaced by age, distance, or devotion,
a certain mercy keeps close
those whom exchange,
without further thought,
the same things at the same time.
We rediscover, even much later,
how friendship marks our time.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
I thought of you.
Often I do. Nothing specific,
not always. No particular time
or place. No clear dimensions.
Sometimes. Wide awake.
Even with night on my eyelids.
When you are not there,
I can still think.
I am moved
by gravity or grace.
It could be a mood, perhaps
a song, the scent
of remembrance.
I know it as I know you.
Daydreaming or otherwise.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
Coordinates unclear,
the first wonder of a new day.
Open your eyes,
light diffused, a little confused,
gradually you wake. Go slow.
Morning coffee:
is there a better type
to wash away remnants
of the darkness that exists?
A cloudy day any way,
No need to rush.
You sit and settle
into this reality, every cell
of your being readjusting.
Recalibrate your emotions.
Don’t rush it.
No need today.
Yesterday no longer matters.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
Poetry in the present dictates
internal presence, deep regard
for a past only accounted for
line by line.
Words blur into one cohesive
attempt to detail or describe
lovers, past and present, and
even those who were not as
kind or considerate.
Emotions realized, only at
the time, replicated in a
straightforward voice.
Moments are accounted for
word by word. Poetry exists.
Our lives become stanzas
documenting only what
we remember.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month