Ever the darkness, every night or
early morn, a moment for chance,
the time to begin.
Still, we wait.
Incessantly.
We do it again and again, enough
or a lot or as much as we can
if we care to admit it.
Why?
Can’t a shade of mystery simply
take hold, whether we like it
or not?
Must we always seek familiarity?
10/21/2024 j.g.l.
The Moon hangs low,
yet the Sun still rises.
Each day
we have another chance
to shine a little brighter.
Rise up.
Be radiant.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
Today might not be what it is
without yesterday being all
that it was.
In a succession of events,
unplanned or programmed,
rarely do we consider
what has happened,
as it happens.
Sometimes we speak less
about things that matter
as we think we have
more time, as such.
Oftentimes
we do not speak of
things we should
as they are happening,
in the time that remains.
In the time we are given,
the present persists.
10/15/2024 j.g.l.
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.
For many of us, Mothers exist
only in memory.
We had our time, but never enough.
Unconditional love, never
realized or respected.
Even then, as we grew older,
even, then, as did they too,
we remained
a child in their eyes,
in their heart,
in their thoughts.
They wanted only the best for us,
and gave all they had.
So much to learn,
patience and understanding
taught by example.
Wisdom in hindsight.
The words, the voice, the comfort
comes in small doses
when you need it most.
Maybe a certain day with flowers
and cards to celebrate
is not enough. How could it be?
Isn’t it every day, not just
the once-in-a-while,
when the love shows through?
Let peace be, ceremoniously.
Cherish the moments,
so much to yearn.
They only wanted the best for us
and would sacrifice
their comfort for ours.
For many of us
only scattered memories,
with moments for some
still to come.
Either way
there is always time
to whisper
I love you Mom.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
© 2017 j.g. lewis
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.