are we all
hooded
modern day mystics &
present day bards
in an echo chamber
repeating the call
?

morning strolls
along dew-kissed roads
to greet the rising sun.

slowly sipping hot coffee
meeting the misty dawn
& scattering seeds
for the song birds
to continue their melodies.

french blue, shear drapes
forest green dotted with colors
of the flowers.

napping in and under treeshade
where we too enjoy
fresh baked bread
& herby jam.
- - -
no beginnings
& no endings
just relentlessly
unpretending

light of my life
and song of my soul
you're never too far-
at least that's
what i'm told.

games of telephone
made to selectively hear
those who call
but the message is distorted,
incomplete at best.
maybe it would be better
to put the voicemails to rest
someday soon,  
we can all read the texts.

as someone who remembers
being a kid so vividly,
all i can say to parents
so they will see:

that to be young
is scary
and your only job
is to carry
their pains
& their paints
as they navigate
this mundane maze.
- - -
your time & affection
no apps nor toys
can rush.

in time
your pain & affliction
they will touch.