Friday, November 24, 2017


Time, beautiful time,
the self professed tester
of human adaptability
swings me every day
between success and failure
and sleep brings no release
for I bear the weight of dreams
until the awakening
of enlightenment

I’m here in the everyday
cut and chip of soul
from static pose to flying mode
uncertain where I’ll fall
but fine filigrees of hope
crossing over in the dark
a safety net and soft landing
for the fallen and bereft.

Like a homemade mish-mash stew
I’m dished up from old to new
and if my heart should drop,
it lands uninjured and intact
into the lap of hope.

Hope’s a very splendid thing,
it dies and comes alive;
have you ever wondered why?

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