He wakes each day with a spark in his chest
A quiet whisper, "This time's, my best."
But the hours dissolve like sand through his hands
Leaving behind half-built plans

The world seems to race, a river too swift
He’s caught in the current, adrift, adrift
Each promise he makes, each vow to achieve
Dissolves in the shadow of dreams he can't weave

His home echoes soft with unmet intent
A partner's sigh, a love half-spent
Conversations linger, threads left to fray
Words unspoken at the close of the day

At work, his desk tells tales of delay
Piles of tasks like clouds turning gray
The ladder he climbs bends under his weight
Each rung a reminder he’s always too late

And yet, in his heart, a flame still burns
A stubborn flicker, a longing that yearns
To be the man his younger self saw
To mend his cracks, to rise from the flaw

But the maze is vast, and the path unclear
He carries the burden of hope and fear
He doesn’t see failure; he sees the fight
A life still searching for its light

@Erennwrites

Your touch is deep,
When you’re inside.
Where can I sleep,
No heart denied.
Know where I been,
Cause I won’t tell.
No, it’s not sin,
Where tears don’t dwell.
Something you can’t,
Have for long lust.
Tried loving shan‘t,
God cursed to dust.
We try so hard,
To hold love lost.
Bleeding blood shard,
Dead eyes up cost.
Here pain no more,
Drained my dread gore…

“We could never see tomorrow
No one said a word about the sorrow”
The Bee Gees

a simple rhyme, a plaint familiar,
for those who have never stared
down train tracks, which is a lesson
in recognizing
the uncertainties of
living,
even if linearly visualized,
t h e o r e t i c a l l y

can veer to destinations unknown,
worthy of being dreaded, thinking
what are the odds today is the last,
and maybe now and then, not just
dismissing,them so easily

but it always brings on pain old
and familiar, recollecting of the
way life never asks you first, the

swiftness of two life lines colliding
with the
s u d d e n e s s
unfathomable
of 2 locomotives crashing,
head on
and leaving behind
a desolation breathtaking

it is a well lit winter morning,
cold light, but the direct sun
leaves a general okayness,
and you trudge along,
head bent, respecting the chilling,
calculating the distance to
the warmth of a planned
destination,
but here I remind
all of us:

”No one said a word
about the sorrow”