When it's fire writing the story,
Papers are ought to get burnt.

If places were words, I would read them all day long and then some more at night. I would write them down beside one another to capture the best combinations.

If people were symphonies, I would listen to the music in them every morning. I would keep the best notes and cherish them for life.

If languages were colors, I would wear them with pride, all reds and yellows. I would paint my city in all shades.

A thousand steps
A hundred ripples
Hurried heartbeats
A leap of faith

A journey from "it's me to that's me"

You took the cloud from the sky
Where else will it belong?

I heard that new homes
Are not easy to be found.

Home is a funny word, a funny feeling!

It's funny to the extent that I laugh at the naiveness of those who believe in it's façade of being permanent.

One day, night will come and the sun will shine no more

One day, it would be no day at all and the moon will be alone

That day, the stars will peek from the holes

That day, the sleep will enter our souls

What
makes
A poet

Well
I think
Eventually

One will
just
know it

©  2019 Jim Davis