The youth
carry the burden of school.
Will I pass or will I fail?

Fathers
carry the burden of work,
money, and sleep deprivation.

Mothers
carry the burden of the juggling act
of the super woman.

Old folks
carry the burden of a body
that no longer works for them.

And all---and all---
carry the burden of never
being good enough .

Burdens.
Backpacks.
"Come to Me," calls the
Bearer of all burdens.
"I will give you rest.
Give your heavy burden to Me,
and exchange it for the lighter load,
which I give to thee."

She lets the backpack fall from her shoulders.
And walks on.
Carrying a lighter one.
Her striving is done.
A journey toward rest
has begun.

I will tell you these things about the sky
and of summer going into fall, of berries nearly gone
the mountain ash trees green, gold and changing.
The yellow waxwings that perch beneath
the heavy laden leaves, cool
amid an autumn storm.
Half the sky is impossibly grey
then further away, turning black charcoal
a place where thunder is born, booming.
The other half changes from pink, purple, blue
crashing its way into these luminous hills
meandering in sync with birds over the river
until the sun comes, igniting the clouds
on fire with red again.

A pea said
To  a bean
Why am i  spherical
And you so long?
Bean said
Both of us will be cooked
So there is no way
But to compromise
With time

I will remember the time,
The time, when We kissed
for the first time, pushed back
against the wooden doors
of My room. The time when
I made Her cry,
and wiped the tears off Her face,
with My towel, and a sorry heart,
The time, when "just friends"
turned "I love You too", along
with a kiss and a tight grip,
The time, when She out of blue,
snatched My collars and kissed Me,
pausing My breath, smiling,
I was confused. Whether to
smile or stay stunned, or
when She called Me by pet names,
even within crowds, I smiled,
It was embarrassing, yet cute.
Ow, What a beautiful time.

Though, with one exception,
We both are flowing with
beautiful ambiance of the time,
but with a destiny towards
"Just a friend". A rare story of Mine,
Where, We chose to be happy,
yet, none with a victory sign ...