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: October 2018
What we choose to carry
across the sand, across the street,
or through shadows that threaten or question,
will influence how we walk
across this planet.
Implications. Allegations.
Will you step meekly, leaving
a faint footprint, pace forcefully
forward, or drag your feet to leave a mark.
Could you be left behind,
a solemn slice of nostalgia?
Outdated. Obsolete.
How will the weight of a cruel world
affect you? Keeping up with
rapid technological advancement will silence you.
It never remains the same;
never will, nor will you.
Decisions. Revisions.
Sand will become stone, streets
will grow into neighbourhoods, and
skyscrapers will create doubt or a place to hide.
Will you take comfort in isolation
away from the sun?
Confusion. Evolution.
You will see your future more clearly
with your eyes no longer squinting.
Rest, as you can. Your mind is overflowing
Your body is tired. This pace
will leave you breathless.
Persistence. Resistance.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Posted on October 10, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Before I go home,
knowing my complex definition
has been altered by erstwhile
thieves and anxious lovers
(absolutely one in the same),
let me speak.
Let me speak.
No,
at 3 o’clock in the morning,
let me whisper
bygone intentions
I once believed, or was fooled
into believing.
I am a fool;
not am imbecile: a difference
not greater than thieves
or lovers.
It’s a theory that will
keep me awake
well into the night.
j.g.l.
Posted on October 9, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Even with the darkness
I can still see
what is wrong.
Even in the darkness
I will know
where I belong.
Even by the stillness
I can trace you
with my hand.
Even through the distance
I can sense
you understand.
10/09/2018 j.g.l.
