The gifts we reap
are directly linked
to all of the promises
we choose to keep
sustaining and growing
not always a chore
the basics of allowing
seeds to soar

A bridge created with dried leaves
and an ancient tree,
shaped from a life
of woe is me.
This tree, he wanted something more
convinced his life
was a treacherous bore.
A constant covet of
the other side of the moat,
fearful he'd reach it
in the mutilated form
of a boat.
It was time,
he knew,
when he felt a stormy breeze,
for this was the opportunity
he had to seize.
The gust grew stronger
and with a lightning struck heave
he became the natural bridge
between want and achieve.

Pointed sounds escape
as the tip of a pen
captures muted agony
thundering onto paper
leaving only humanity to
contemplate the value
of the script
before them

Nostalgia falls
slowly from the sky
wrinkling skin
as another day
goes by

If pillows could talk,
I'd ask yours for your dreams,
What your nightmares are made of,
When it last silenced your screams.

If pillows could talk,
Do you think ours would be friends?
Bonding to be had
Over the rest they lend.