Morning observations rarely register
as we wake and wander our way
through infant hours.
It takes a moment for
the mind to come alive while
the gravity of the day settles in.
We fail to notice little things,
considerably more substantial days ago,
perhaps once meaningful or spiritual,
now displaced as the second hand
of the wristwatch sweeps onward.
Afford yourself opportunity
to be distracted by butterflies, soon
a scent of lilacs, freesia, even the taste of
spring rain or requisite morning coffee.
In days so rent with common
occurrences, look beyond
what is there.
05/02/2024 j.g.l.
despair
Who will write the eulogies
for those taken far too early? Too
young, unsuspecting, trusting
it was just another day.
Cheeks flush with joyous youth
never again revealed. At seventeen
you never know what lays ahead;
still once they had a chance.
How will we write the eulogies
for those now reported dead?
Where will we find the words
lost in prayer, ignored in protest,
or excuses plentiful as guns;
empty as a classroom desk.
We know, only, we never know
when we will last inhale.
Who will write the eulogies
for those left behind. Will they
remember the despair of that day,
or will it be forgotten as we deal
with yet another tragedy, another
unscripted war on a world long ago
stripped of its innocence, grasping
now to any shred of benevolence.
© 2018 j.g. lewis