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A lovely breeze flows
through my half open windows.
I stand by the grill,
pretend to have strong will,
to stay in my senses,
to stay alive in coming darkness
.

It has been long,
I hear echo of that dull song
while I still stand by the grill
and let time fill
the emptiness within me.

Walking on the roads,
I pass shops and bill boards
selling happiness in everything
as though items can bring
back contentment to you,
replace the warmth of a lost soul
with an object cold and new.

I have failed over a hundred times
took the wrong turn after a long mile,
tried to make way after dead ends,
always trying for that smooth bend.

I feel today,
I need to make a new way.
I am that same soul
with an old habit of setting new goal,
with a heavy heart,
with an anxious mind
,
plan a new beginning
on this lonely Sunday evening.
Some random directionless thoughts, never know what to get out of these.
Water  rushing  down  the  drains.
And  through  windswept  country  lanes.

Trees  brushing  water  away  with  their  leaves.
Birds  sheltering  under  the  eaves.

Pools  on  the  lawn  appear.
It,s  a  dreadful  night  I  fear.

Pitch  black  little  to  see.
A  new  day  may  set  us  free.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
Living with unrequited love
Feels just like waking up
To a come down
Every morning
But never with any recollection
Of feeling high.
Everyone washes up
on some distant shore
whether through design
or happenstance

Riptides dragging us
currents taking us
either through the
grinding routine
or the adventurous
spirit of the tides

Either way

We find ourselves
in places we
never intended to go

The water lapping
the warm sand so sweet
reminding us
never turn our back
on the ocean

or risk being
swept away,
delivered to
some shore,
trapped in some life
we never cared
to know.

The sun sets
of course in the west
The Pacific is anything but,
when we find ourselves
swept up

on a distant shore
in an alien landscape
wondering
how did we get here
at all.
Another day falling
from the crack of yesterday,

a patch of pearl
burning in the amber west
flaring up heaven
firing me up
in the pains of solitude
and poetry.

Home beckons through a dark way
where hope breathes eternal
as lanterns of moonlit leaves.

I won't mourn the loss
but fill all the void
with paper and ink.
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