Missing what's no longer mine
I'm consumed.
Where are the waves?
Standing on a dead shore
wondering about the moon above.
Choice is a prison.
Pick wisely.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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2022
(201)
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▼
August
(28)
- A Letter to Fred
- Seentience
- Will The Suffering Be Worth The Sacrifice
- Slow Dance at the End of the World
- That Which Persists
- New Continents in the Old World
- Humane Money
- The Poem
- Om
- We Sailors
- Rain Approaches
- Temple in the Jungle
- Choice
- the birds can hear methey turn and then fly awaysu...
- The Astronaut
- small reminder to you
- Endurance
- Runner
- Broken Compass
- For Kristen and Emily
- El Dios de Lluvia
- Humbled
- Kingdom
- From City to Forest
- In these days of endless winterI comfort myself th...
- Clenched Jaw
- Lungs
- Fall Approaches
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▼
August
(28)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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