You’re lost upon your weakened knees
For who am I but to my own ill reprieve?
For though one knows what is to come
And can never quite be sure
What is often plain as day
So often wishing to ignore

Searching for answers in days left behind
An uncertain question for what it seems you’ll never find
Indeed the solutions are not always in what you obtain
Sometimes it leaves you empty and stained


Though plain as day it is to whom it pertains
Warning signs carved into her ****** shape
You struggle to comprehend for your desire is but just
You seek sweet refuge in what is a heavenly host

For what is so difficult is not always what is to ensue
Often what is so grueling is facing the truth

For uncertainty is a cruel company
Teasing your every thought
Deteriorating under its shadow
Plagued by its every walk

Too jaded to be alone
To cold to sit together
Tying the strings of the mind
In a tragedy which seems forever

As you hold onto the knots she gently ties
Affixed your clench as you desperately try
Futility drives the force
Together you are untied

She washes her hands in egg whites,
picking out stray shell pieces.
Sitting as still as the morning- quiet,
while the kettle sets itself a-steaming.
She hears that same Chinese flute
drifting down the hallway,
slipping universal truths
under each hotel room doorway.
She looks to the rain in the hills
like sorrowful sailor's wife;
a day could be time for a dream fulfiled
or the time that the rivers run dry.

Maybe after some months
– or years –
I'll meet your eyes again
and maybe then,
you'll be able to love me.
Or maybe,
just maybe,
I'll have already forgotten you.
Hopefully.

when I ask myself
what I am
I am not sure I know the answer

a ‚mature‘ man
of 70 plus

grandpa
of 11 grandchildren

yesterday‘s
person of authority

mentor for young ones
still looking for themselves

all of the above
or none of it

in the end only those
who read these lines
decide

dusty apparitions arise
from unsteady tombs
prey on tender light
presage arid doom

vibrant beacons glare
from far-away abodes
speak of missing starlight
dream of once old

murmurs in the darkness
draw to my ears
threaten of a mother
for whom I’ve no fear

I trek
and I trek
and I trek

but an utter
of no discernible source
tells me to turn back
stray off course

i look behind
is that my path?
i look forward
is that my path?

did it all disappear

where is my path
did i have a path
again alone
always been alone
always had no home

why am i here

And every step
Stepping
Towards you
Is a leap
Full of laughter
Painless
Light on my heart

And every step
Stepping
Towards you
Is sped as I land
Back onto earth
Back into my life

And every step
Stepping
Towards you
Is rebalancing myself
As I try to understand
What it is that I am doing
As I gaze out to the empty horizon

And every step,
Stepping
Towards you...
Is full of worry
Every next step reconsidered
Every next foothold possibly
Disfigured
The uncertainty in each step...?
Whispers and whispers
Of silence
Whispers and whispers
For warmth
Whispers and whispers...

While soaking the February sun in my cold bones, I think of possibilities.

I hear the sparrows chirp on my house's rooftop, but I also worry about the ominous fumes rising from a factory nearby.

This is also an analogy for my life.

I question if my imagination runs a bit too wild or if I trust my ideas too less?

I am unable to feel completely happy, but I cannot sink into sadness just yet.

I wonder what to choose, hope or despair?  

I am hanging somewhere in the middle,
in the web of possibilities, both good and bad.
‎
I am searching for answers to questions that nobody can answer for me.