on sunday mornings
the streets sigh
with hideous anticipation
awaiting an answer to a question—
unspoken—
is the city dead
or not yet awoken?

It's divinely inscribed that loving means patience
and kindness, honesty, humility, and hope:
Most things that are lacking in my personnel essence,
a setback tying me down like a rope.
Now the challenge arises, to tread a new pace.
Take the road less traveled, unlearn what I knew.
As for weakness written well all over my face,
I'm not only hopeful, I'm horrified too.
To watch things unfold to the slow beat of my heart,
see things as they are instead of how it might be;
and though I am eager to see the next part,
I revel in the unrushed, gentle moments of happy.
Because good things come to all those who wait;
I know that one day, it will surely be great.

You anxiously anticipate evening restlessness
feeling the pain of resilience deep in your bones
but dying fires from the sunset sky cool your eyes
and a horizon line is sewn into your heart
where blazing sunset colours go to rest
after evening blues wash the sky
and leave behind droplets of stars
you fall asleep - dreaming of hope

Anticipation for the inevitable
A rush of adrenaline
Coursing through my veins
Telling myself I'm okay
Lying to steady my heartbeat
"Relax, it'll be okay."
Yet, such is false
For my mind is a minefield
A pile of rubble
Left to settle the dust
Determine the damage
Before it's too late
And I'm too far gone.

- Jay M
August 26th, 2019

I wait on a little island
Marooned in the sea of traffic
The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes
To the farmer in me
But the lack of an umbrella
Makes my mind jittery
I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all
If the sky should burst open its floodgates
Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone?
Hurry Mr. Driver
Spur on that staff bus!