I miss the way things used to be
I miss the way we were
I miss the love I felt all day
And how I felt so sure

I miss the way we'd fellowship
Sing and talk late at night
I miss the way we were together
Fighting the good fight

I miss the laughter that we shared
And all the bitter tears
And how it felt that all that stuff
Would last for years and years

I miss all of the time we spent
Learning more and more
Of nooks and crannies we had found
In our hearts and souls

I hope we come again one day
To where we used to be
Where we can talk and sing again
Of where we long to see.

Even with all the hardship
The heartbreak
The death
The lies
And evil of this world,
There is still some good.
There is still the moon reflecting off dark water
There is still birds singing in the sun
There are still nights like tonight
And it's nights like this,
With the window open to the cold air
The stars and moon shining
The violin crickets
Good music
And old friends
That make all the sorrows
Of this world
Worth it

If I could tell you anything
If any words could fall from my lips
And slip into your ears
I would say
I'm sorry
I'm sorry that even though
You are so blissfully
Beautifully happy
I can't be happy for you
I'm sorry
Because right now
I'm so unhappy with myself
That it's hard for me
To be happy for anyone else

It's fall
And the trees are changing
Daintily dropping their leaves
To the grateful ground
Wind whispering through their branches

It's fall
And the rain is pelting
Perfect
Against my window
Inviting me to stay inside
With hot tea
And a good book

It's fall
And the smells are enchanting
Cinnamon
Pumpkin
Wet grass after a long storm

It's fall
And I'm wearing sweatpants
Giant sweaters
And long socks
Warming my feet by the fire

It's fall
And the cool wind
Rushes through my hazel hair
Laughing
And tossing itself about my
Face

It's fall
And squirrels are everywhere
Hiding food
And chattering
To each other
Across the trees

It's fall
And my bed is inviting
Warm,
Cozy,
Safe,

It's fall
And I want to lose myself
In a good book
A fire
And myself

It's fall
And I feel at peace

I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation

in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars

on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune

of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life

In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me