In the field among the sheep
legs buckling
a small rest
is all
a small rest
is all
Father calling you home
sheep surround you
Sun reaching your eyes
Father calling you home
One more breath
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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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2014
(302)
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August
(35)
- If I love you, I am terrible at saying goodbye.
- Keeping the Light On
- The Gods do not worry about us hearing them move ...
- I am awake
- My heart is a spectacle viewable both day and ni...
- The gesture is the weight.
- Waking Up On The Moon
- Without Proof/Only Belief
- pencil marks
- Stranded by Choice
- In Memoriam
- In A Moment
- To Forgive
- Tears Are Salty Like The Ocean
- Leaving Avalon
- My Heart & I
- passing through
- Every Ghost Was Once Alive
- Tell The Ghosts
- let them be
- A failure
- Loving Her
- submission
- Incarnations & Incantations
- Religious Inquiry
- Worn Down Paths
- Of Course I'm Going To Die
- your cheeks became a rainforest and all I could ...
- Washer & Dryer
- Balthazar
- unknown
- Even night must end.
- storms
- Love & Time
- This animal which I became.
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▼
August
(35)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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