i hear
the birds fly
overhead,
their chirps, squeaks
and squawks
inviting me
outside
to join the
morning party.

Remember when,
You provided.
Even when,
I didn't know,
You delighted
in me, so.

poetry percolates
in the unconscious
waiting for a triggered start.

poetry then lays dormant in the body
until it's ready to surface
in the heart.

I just overheard,
A gentleman slip out casually:
“We all have our secrets…” And I paused,
Self-reflectingly,
“Yes, i’spose we do…”

Take in,
The seed of hope before my eyes,
Widening, new life-filled lungs sigh.

And the train pulls out
Of the station,
Taking travellers forward
And leaving others behind.

Depending on the time
Of the day,
This act is done
With little to no sound.

Like a silent movie,
Especially the cool of the morn.
Where are we all going;
Where are we all bound?