Who rises the sun,
What man drags forth light?
I know not the knight,
Valiant to bring forth the sunrise.
Still, valor to his efforts,
For life is better in the light.

We head for icebergs,
Faster than we know,
We cherish our unsinkability.

But we don't know what lies on the dark sea's lip,
Often sailing with confidence,
Yet, without a search light.

It doesn’t sit right—
not anymore
the way three chairs
got up and left
without even
looking back—
it’s not right
when nothing is left.

I set a plate
anyway
push the salt closer—
just the right seasoning
for food
and wounds
left open—

It doesn’t sit right—
alone—
having leftovers
left and right
with a table
left standing—
It doesn’t sit right
when a table
can’t even talk back.

there are not enough words there to articulate
but listen closely to what I am about to say
I feel crushing pangs of sadness inside my heart
and there is no fathomable cause for it to hurt
There is nothing that is so deeply wounding in life
I am solemnly waiting, for answers for my feelings
Contemplating how to piece and what to change
The thoughts go everywhere, solution out of range.

The birds that stick around
don’t sing much
in winter, I mean,
what is there to sing
about? They are cold
and probably envy
their migrating friends;
I hang with them,
through the winter,
give them seed and suet,
fatness to keep them warm,
but tonight, the birds
are singing again, and
the robins are back,
so, I guess it is
time to shout;
The birds will sing
and I will shout,
I will let my
happiness out.
let it be a song