dusted sunlight
peeks through the cracks
of the old weathered barn

tractor oil
and freshly baled hay
permeate the warm country air

hoot owl, and swallows
whisper from the  
overhead beams

guinea hens scamper ~
to the graceful
rolling fields

Reflection and poetry are synonymous
To be a poet
Is to be reflective in nature
To be a poet
Is to disperse sparks of wisdom
Within the space of letters and lines
Through moments of inner monologues

I wish
So begins the words of a lazy and an uneventful being.
Lacking true actions and follow ups to the stars promised.

I wish
so says a being stuck in the past of the present.
With eyes shut and Ignorant of the gift of now.

I wish
so are the words belonging to an untrustworthy being.
Who says I failed because my wish came false.

I do not wish

Mornings were once sweet
Sweetened by her voice
A smile inducing voice
How dull today is

Her beauty took possession of my eyes
Made me shyly look at the floor at her presence
Her walk collapses my jaw

How cruel she is
She  robbed me off my voice
Rendering me speechless
How cruel she is
Refusing to use her profession to cure my speech
So that I may talk past hello.