The way is foggy
There is no signal here
No maps, no roads
No lights, no signs
Nor signals to guide me
I am a stranger
To this one-horse town
I do not know

So I fall into slumber
To dreams of woods of umber
The ground still with frost
This icy chill biting at my heels
Are these the dogs of winter?
Is the cold of autumn or spring?
Am I the only one who
Feels anything?

As I climb it gets colder
The mist steals further in
More so I feel lost
Torn between the way home
And the way my heart leads
Though I do not know
Which of these is in front
Nor behind me

From love I draw strength
Blindly it pulls me onwards
I do not know if my path is true
If it leads me to you
If it leads to pastures new
If it leads me back to paths already trodden
Retraces unseen footprints
Through marsh and swamp

I feel so small
A speck in this vast landscape
Amidst unconquerable forces she commands
To which I am subject
Strong may be my legs
But a great load they carry
And I fear they may buckle
For weak, she can make me

Prose, a photo
Poetry, pencil sketch,
                                       in five lines.

We see not with eyes but heart
We hear not with ears but heart
We think not with mind but heart
                                                           ­   Helen Keller,
                                                                                      wise beyond sight.

And we feel not with heart but in the guts.

Suspended over
A white cloud covered landscape
It feels like a dream

The long journey ahead seemed so far from home
The road astray and the ground blue
He looked ahead with hopes close to none
“A better life,” said Father, which can’t be true

The long journey ahead seemed so dreary and dull
A mountain looked down and towered the two
Covered in thick clouds and a single gull
The trees spoke in tongues with a silent adieu

The long journey ahead was nearly complete
He felt his feet sink in the lake
He felt the coldness of the water on his feet
This journey was for a better life, for his sake

The long journey ahead was a few paces away
He felt much better then, everything looked like magic
Filled with wonder for this morning in May
Almost there, no turning back, life won’t be so tragic

The long journey that was once long
Had felt like no time at all

Succulent flourishes
a brief sense of essence
fleeting life within a blade of grass
cutting reality by a sliver
rational itching sensation
overwhelming pit of doom
distinct summary, concluded
the life we call ours is no more
falling one by one in a green field
filled with dread and suspense
being consumed with blinding greed