With whose voice do you speak?
The one I was given.
But is it truly mine?
Does it matter?
Are these mine own words?
I believe so.
I know.
This morning
This day
is yet beginning.
How many more thoughts
How many more words
are there to go?
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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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2018
(251)
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April
(35)
- Morning 4/30/18
- Still Human
- Weightless
- Pause
- Run with the Wind
- Home & Light
- Not A Poem
- Morning 4/23/18
- Morning 4/22/18
- Image and Memory
- day
- This Morning's Rain
- My Sleeping Niece
- Stop Running, Start Changing
- The Weight
- Morning 4/17/18
- Amber
- Your Mileage May Vary
- Animal Myths A Brief History of Nothing
- Bound
- searching for the truth within myself
- All the ghosts of who I've been come and drift awa...
- Beat
- ill ease
- turning wheels caught in place turning turning tur...
- Morning 4/9/18
- Everything Repeating
- whisper
- The Restless
- tears
- interbeing
- No tears to trail behind Just memory washed away
- voices voices
- We Are God
- The Lovers
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▼
April
(35)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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