I wonder,
I ponder,
The path I need to take.

I march my way in grassy fields,
To see what I can make.

I trod here,
Trod there,
I trod to find my stake.

For each path hurts its own,
Each path has its wake.

I hike thee,
I climb free,
A mountain I should quake.

The paths are getting harder now,
I tremble and I break.

A wall here,
A crack here?
I must find flaws I forsake.

Each wall built that blocks my path,
Brick by brick I take.

Now a bend,
Sweet end,
The last is not fake.

My journey had gone coming quick,
It is final, my sake.

I do not write to speak,
but to bury,
to press my sorrows into the earth
like seeds I never meant to grow.

Pain does not leave when you ask it to,
it lingers, it echoes, it stabs,
it carves its name into your chest,
Then you whisper it onto a page,
and call it poetry,
or prayer,
or just another night alone.

There are days I drown in the ache,
where my voice cracks under its weight,
where the silence swallows me whole,
and I let it —
I cannot stop it.

But healing is not a sudden bloom,
it is a slow, stubborn crawl,
fingers clawing through the dirt,
digging ever deeper,
pulling out the pieces of who I was
to build the person I am becoming.

And what I’ve learnt is this,
writing is not about expression,
it is about excavation,
and I am still digging
my way towards the sun.

These are the HANDS OF TIME,
being in a CERTAIN ERA, now
that would be SO DIVINE,
LIVING in the TIMES PAST,
would be JUST FINE!!

RELIVING a PAST DREAM,
that would only BE MINE,
OLD PAST MEMORIES that
are STORED DEEP in the
BACK of my MIND!!

In order to Visit them,
I SIMPLY TRAVEL THROUGH
IMAGINATIONS and
JUST UNWIND!!

My OLD, FONDEST MEMORIES that
have GONE FAR AWAY,
I shall never FORGET THEM,
and still think about them
THIS VERY DAY, but

The HAPPINESS they had,
has since then, GONE ASTRAY,
I SHALL NEVER, EVER
FORGET THEM, because
THOSE WERE THE DAYS,
They were THE BEST THAT
I HAVE EVER HAD, but
Things are DIFFERENT NOW, which
MAKES LIFE SEEM SO SAD!!

If I could only turn back,
the HANDS OF TIME,
It would be so nice,
TO REVISIT and
TO REMINISCE, and
NO I WOULDN'T THINK TWICE,

I WOULD GO, VISIT AND
STAY FOR A WHILE, AND
IT WOULD FEEL JUST FINE
IT WOULD BE A JOURNEY
THAT I WON'T FORGET,
IF I COULD TURN BACK
THE HANDS OF TIME!!!


B.R.
Date: 3/26/2025

You're not behind. You're on your own unique path. Trust your journey.

My brother is an angler
devoted to the stream
that pools around long boots,
making the slow cast
that gently whips and
ripples the surface with
a reel that knows
the proper weight
of the scales below.

Gone are the days when
he fished Crandon Pier
while sitting on
an overturned paint bucket with
a cheap red and white bobber
and a cane pole,
competing with the gulls
for the punniest sea prize.

Now he fishes
the Rogue's eternal flow,
its waters murmuring unseen truths
far from shadowy gray terns’ jeers  
that steal his peace—
fishing in steadfast streams  
that let his boots
anchor him to
the quiet pulse of home.

To those honored poets,
An opportunity has opened up,
I'd like to spread this gospel,
Of a chance to reach new horizons,
Well beyond this world,
Now gather if you dare,
Join and journey to a new place.

She repeats patterns she learned from home.
She is blinded by her actions.
Justifying what happened.
She’s the hurt one,
not them.
She knows the answers.
No one listens.
That’s her truth.
People leave.
They don’t agree.
She’s alone,
Saying, why me?
Until the pain is too great to change,
She’ll see herself as a victim,
and continue living the same.
Isolated.

I have to heal my inner wounds.
I have to face reality.
I contributed to this relationship. (Mess)
I feel remorse.
I am ashamed.
I’m ready to start,
and face my inner pain.
In time I see,
I am at peace.
Thank you, me,
Thank you for not giving up.

Who rises the sun,
What man drags forth light?
I know not the knight,
Valiant to bring forth the sunrise.
Still, valor to his efforts,
For life is better in the light.