A fan beats its wings,
while the sun beams a smile,
the ring of a bell,
atones in the silence.
pick up a pen,
scribble down a namesake.
Look, see, and find a place
for this changing whatever.
A picture on a wall
with a woman bathed in cotton,
behind her a sky
made to raise the dead.
We bow down our heads
to figure out God's problems,
leave our shoes outside the door,
It's for Him to choose!
Reminisce a book,
you never liked,
until you'd finished.
My underachievement eyes
can barely read the lines,
a journey far too long,
for a mind tired of talking,
I'll give up on laughing,
If only to find my way.
My heart has become another version
of frostbites winter excursion,
greenish coloured questions,
waiting in the breeze.
When you feel the need
to start treading water,
wait for the right rain cloud
that spells out your name. |
