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: September 2017
We tire ourselves out.
We struggle with that
which we don’t take
the time to understand,
but we should. No one
knows our fears and
foibles better than our
self. We deal with it
day in and day out, but
do we ever completely
acknowledge all that we
know, or do we simply
ignore it?
09/24/2017 j.g.l.
If I were to write you a letter,
what would you want me to say?
Would you be content to read
about the weather, would you like
to know of my days?
Could you relate to my trials and
tribulations, would you settle for my
admissions untold? It is possible to
build some sort meaningful dialogue
as life, as we know it, unfolds?
Aren’t we all are seeking greater
answers, better solutions, or reasons
to understand why? If I were to
write you a letter, would you
even bother sending back a reply?
09/23/2017 j.g.l.
Autumn. What a
beautiful word. Two syllables
that float from your mouth.
Mature. Earthy. Humble.
Autumn.
You can’t rush it; already
it moves too quickly
on its own. Perhaps this is why
memories of Autumn are so clear.
Crisp, concentrated, captured
in such little time.
Winter lasts so long, and
Spring takes a while before
it is even presentable. Summer
is always unpredictable, but
Autumn,
precious Autumn, arrives
and then leaves us enough life,
colour, and anticipation
to see us through
another year.
Autumn.
It can’t wait, but I do.
09/22/2017 j.g.l.
