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.

Away, I am
from this blank page.
filled with an unknown
undefined rage.
Hatred inside grown
against whom
I cannot comprehend.

Looking for excuses,
drawing away from reality
spitting out curses
on the face of fake charity.

With love for green
I have traveled to places,
upon meeting people
I have not seen
happiness in their faces.

The tune still rings
inside my ***** head.
When will my dreams
grow the wings
needed to fly before
these eyes become dead.

There,s  a  chill  in  the  air.
I  just  felt  it  out  there.
Autumn  introducing  Itself.
The  sun  came  out
for  a  fleeting  moment.
Then  it  turned
suddenly  chilly  again.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I walked along the mountain stream
Where dancing sunbeams shone and gleamed

It was such a peaceful place
The gentle breeze carressed my face

I came across a country stile
Where I could sit and think awhile

Far  away  from  this  dangerous  world
The  natural  beauty  just  unfurled.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

Suddenly  gone  very  quiet  here.
Main  tourists  now  long  gone.

Birds  and  animals  quiet  too.
No  morning  chorus.

Weather  stagnant, mainly  cloudy, no  wind.
And  surprisingly  no  sign  of  rain.

Trees  are  beautiful  though.
Leaves  of  rich  reds,  browns,  and  golds.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.



,

Come on girl
it's time to fly

Don't let this gray sky
hold us down

The water may swirl
but we won't drown

Ain't nothing but the wind
and the rain keeping us in

Let's get on out of here
and get some air

Driving sideways
through this storm

Running its fingers
through our hair

Like a swarm
of honeybees came

Singing Love is like a hurricane
and Here comes those tears again

Writing words
upon my window pane

Come on girl,
it's just the wind and the rain.

Night, I call you
the sanctuary of the lost
and the no-good,
like the hawk down
in my pillow case
full of forgotten dreams
that old hound time
tears apart like bones
tossed under the table,
so I pull on my new boots
and walk in the dark
with no place to go
but the road that leads
to the ferry by the river,
because unlike lost friends
and dead family, the cold
water will always take me in.

In the dark age before reason
warmed his sharp knife,
I took things to heart
that left scars with no wound,
like lightning without thunder
or melody, that barefoot gypsy
I fell in love with, like Night
and her moon, woman with child
sinking below frozen ground,
I learned the loneliness
of cold seasons, and the wood
of the wild cherry will **** you.