Poetry
to me
is taking
my pain
and making
it sing.

Do they get neatly tucked away in pockets, where it will never be retrieved,
or things left unsaid only to dissipate in our minds.
Where do the years go?
Are they memories stored of children playing and watching them grow or of all the love that has crossed our paths?
Is it music and dancing , when time seems to stand still?

We will probably never know..

This winter wonderland puts me in a trance;
Imagining a life not yet lived; a little glance.
But slumber keeps calling my name.
Snowflakes kiss the air, and glitters all around.
But slumber keeps calling my name.
Seeking the comfort of all things warm; you will find me under blankets and with coffee for days...
But slumber keeps calling my name.
And soaking in the moments I have with those, whom I adore,
I look to brush time away once more,
But slumber keeps calling my name.
As the evening creeps in,
I am pensive as the bustle slows down, and the silence inhabits the cold,
Slumber inhabits me too...