Lines

Sketches across blank walls, finding who I want to be

Horizons parting Earth from heaven, searching for a way of life to lead

Paths of life, indirect roads, destinations unforeseen

Unable to erase what’s drawn before, continue forward in search of me

Let Me

Scribbled thoughts without an end

Searching for a release that eases the pain of inner voices

Written words never said

But know that exist all too well

And I drift

Drift between yesterdays and moments not yet sung

Unsteady plateaus that tilt with each step

I grab hold for fear of falling back

Only to fall forward, at the mercy of my own gravitational pull

And I ask

Where do I land?

Steady ground beneath my feet

Or is this constant falling where I’m suppose lie

Wrapped in a blend of comfort and unease

Knowing the only certainty is my own uncertainty

There has to be more

Let me heal

Let me heal and mend broken words and my uneven sighs

Let me heal

I have to try

Inhale

Memories watercolored across blue skies, savored views that grow fonder with age

Fragrance’s fingertips fall softly upon rose petals, a concerto that moves with the breeze

Silhouettes dance undetected in the shadows, private celebrations not for public view

Joys of living condensed inside myself, life inhaled then exhaled into the wind

Scattered Leaflets Fall Like Confetti

Standing on platforms after the last train

The scent of falling stars burn my eyes

Karma evens the scales, a jolt returning me back to life

Stir autographed story lines purposely forgotten

.

Fresh ink on old proofed copies, reminders still wet to the touch

Right siding my compass, the magnetic pull forcing a turn

Scattered leaflets fall like confetti, gravity pulls in one direction

Lining streets, cushioning my fall

Rearrange

Penciled life lines smudged in the middle

A sequence of dreams scattered on the cutting room floor

Broken scents, delayed by the wind, drifting beyond reach

The hush that forgiveness provides after the storm

Pathways through the budding groves after the rain

Teardrops of forgotten summers, dried by the touch of the sun

We forgot the reason we came, troubled journeys come to an end

Watercolors of Past and Present Blend

Sifting through a box of self-edits

Textures graze my fingertips, recalling stories left behind

Mixed emotions resurface, decide to keep me company, just for awhile

Reminiscent moments stir my senses, tasted sounds audible only to my ears

Prodding me to relive archived scenes of long ago

Watercolors of past and present blend, waiting for the sun’s warmth to dry them off

Each blurred stroke changing ever so slightly, indistinctly

My reality, who I am