Inside They Remain

Sketches drawn, left on windowsills, picked up by strangers

Crumbled letters in a corner, piled, never to be read

Rehearsed conversations, alone, never to touch the ears of others

Midnight dreams, fleeting, that disappear with morning’s breath

Unheard voices, inside they reman, never to be released

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Hardly They Come

Hardly they come

Even on the eve of sevens

Long roads, high walls

The forgetting time has long since past

Early mornings greet faceless waters

Gathering scents before first steps, leaving

Inhale, lungs filled with yesterdays

Exhale, burying distant memories for now

Printing Press Voices

A printing press, printing the same word

The hand crank turns, round and round 

Pages pass through rollers, a pile begins to form

The silence of dried ink screams in my head, quiet’s overpowering voice

Other thoughts clash – they fight, they dance – both wanting to take the lead

Unable to change the message, easier to succumb than believe

World Captured in Glances

Empty door frames

Are more like picture frames when looking out from the inside

The world captured in glances, a collection of images

Fallen leaves creating piles on the ground

 

Wind rushes in and leaves as she pleases

Always waiting for her return

Her presence is only felt, never seen

Sudden exits leave me empty inside