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.
Your whisper fair warns us, yet still
we are surprised. The calendar’s last page,
and we are left feeling more. Always.
Winter: a beginning comes near the end,
while the end craves new beginnings.
The longest season, physically, or
spiritually. Consistency, year over year,
over year, from one into the next.
Cold, as it is darker. Light is appreciated,
and necessary. We grow up knowing,
the facts of this season. Always,
our lives marked by winter.
Time, and years, have become forgotten,
but we are reminded. The soil
and silence, frozen. Our insular existence,
non-secular pain, wind-chafed emotions,
a reminder again. We desire
a warm touch; December, January or
otherwise. Hope, as with autumn’s last leaf,
dangling in a greater stillness.
A confessional. Always. Dormancy
until early spring, what we allow or when
we embrace. Silence. Darkness.
We need not be surprised.
Impulse knows. We have been here before.
©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.