I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: July 2016
Mondays are just young Fridays
As with any of this, each or every wakeful
moment, whether horizontal or in an active
stream-of-conscious state, you dare not allow
the doubt to continue further than it has.
Yes, anxiety has threatened to mercilessly
terrorize the duly imagined joy you believed
worthy of, still you managed to quell all
uneasy thoughts.
The years in a vacuum allowed you to tend
to all that was required, though the wall grew
higher, and stronger. What force was able to
seep through the mortar and allow you to feel
hopeful again?
Where has it gone, that which was equal
and true. What happened to all which, once
again, allowed you to breathe fully and feel
passion only heartfelt words could unrest?
A soul can exist in isolation for only so long.
You stumbled slightly, yet took that leap of
faith. Instinct exists for a reason, and you
found more to act on, and less to ignore.
You were not simply fogging the glass.
You lived, if only briefly, that which you
were capable of. Brief need no be, if you can
harvest once more all that is known to be
whole, and true; and waiting.
j.g.l.
Posted on July 25, 2016 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
As with any of this, each or every wakeful
moment, whether horizontal or in an active
stream-of-conscious state, you dare not allow
the doubt to continue further than it has.
Yes, anxiety has threatened to mercilessly
terrorize the duly imagined joy you believed
worthy of, still you managed to quell all
uneasy thoughts.
The years in a vacuum allowed you to tend
to all that was required, though the wall grew
higher, and stronger. What force was able to
seep through the mortar and allow you to feel
hopeful again?
Where has it gone, that which was equal
and true. What happened to all which, once
again, allowed you to breathe fully and feel
passion only heartfelt words could unrest?
A soul can exist in isolation for only so long.
You stumbled slightly, yet took that leap of
faith. Instinct exists for a reason, and you
found more to act on, and less to ignore.
You were not simply fogging the glass.
You lived, if only briefly, that which you
were capable of. Brief need no be, if you can
harvest once more all that is known to be
whole, and true; and waiting.
j.g.l.
