A love like the trees
That grows from a seed
Patience and perseverance
A tree that grows on her own
That sometimes intertwines with another
Not quite together
Not quite separate
Growing into a beautiful form
But one tree is not like the other
The pine is not like the oak
There are separate worlds living in each
sometimes they collide
Not all the birds sing the same song
Sometimes these worlds don’t get along
Perhaps a new space to grow
Where there is no fire or smoke
The pine is not like the oak

I look in the mirror,
10 years passed in a breeze,
older, fatter, a wrinkle begins to form.
Youth begins to evade me,
Yet I do not feel sad nor glad,
I am simply living, okay, content with myself.
Is it not odd? Is it not strange? That I no longer care.

this overcoat
of friends
filled with smoke and
lies. I’ve worn for
years. Drenched in tears
it’s soaked and heavy
as my father’s 60 Chevy.

Time to Shed
this wrinkled skin
I’ve lived in all my life. It’s pale
and thin/stretched
too wide. I cannot hide the
Lilly spots that branch out
from my eyes.

Time to shed
this painted red
drawer of memories
beside my bed. I haven't
energy to sift through
the pile/sort out the happiness
from the bile.

way beyond the darkening hills,
unseen brushes with varied hues,
are painting the distant skyline,
with violet, gold and pastel blues
while twilight descends soft as silk,
enveloping the clouds and sky,
the evening sun turns round and red,
the silent moon and stars stand by.