Though your head is turned
I can still see you,
Facing towards the glowing screen,
You say you don't have time,
Even a short coffee break is too much,
You're a stranger to me and I am one to you,
I see the back of your head in a room of paper,
Since when did work replace family?
I'm leaving soon and you won't notice,
I see you but you don't see me,
I don't know who I live with,
Though we are related, I can only see you.

Whispering to me,
The rocks call out my name,
As they shift their location,
With each passing tide.
The white foam outlining
The waves that seem to be
In an endless cycle.
Gravity pushes and pulls
The giant basin of water
Can we really see what's in the sea?
Or is it just a bowl of water
That we cannot drink
But supports so much life
That is vital to our ways of living.
Can we really see?

Is there such a thing?
An edge I mean.
Or does the black hole
That we have sought
Make us travel, wander
Into the dimensions.
Trying to find the one edge
To answer our questions.
Where? When? Why?
We're such curious beings.

Poems are fun
But also neat
They can be read
Or said out loud
To explain things
In an artful form.
Poems are meaningful
And sometimes silly
Poetry is everything.
Can be about anything.
Even a poem

A friend of mine
Who is quite cool
She laughs and sings
And dances too.
We play some games
And laugh a lot
Because we have things
To talk about.
Shwahaylas come quite rarely
But when they do.
Your life is so much better.
When you include her in it too.

The sometimes stay,
But mostly drift,
Like our friendship,
These so many years,
Everyday,
There was a cloud above my head,
Until it suddenly cleared,
And then I saw the sun,
Which remains in a single place.

The rest is silence,
In the poisoned body I have,
Everyone is dead,
I cannot move anymore,
If only I had acted sooner,
I was such a fool.