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.
Author: 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
Have you written your saddest story,
or are you living it now?
Do you keep track of days in a diary?
Does the ink run like rain, entries full
of temptation or pain that upsets the
balance of this so-called life?
When you reread the words, can you
recall emotions that cut like a knife
through the bullshit and bafflegab
you have continually endured.
Does it still hurt?
Does it settle on the page in the
form of a poem, will it forever remain
a secret never to be known to those
who inspired feelings you simply
cannot forget?
Can you wear the scars with pride,
or will you always regret?
04/21/2024 j.g.l.
April is Poetry Month
it is all about emotion
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
Posted on April 19, 2024 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Any day now the leaves will return, colour
bound to fill our lives, relieve our eyes of
all we have been forced to take in as winter
has, and does, dull our vistas.
The ugliness of it all, or most of it, may seem
less degrading. Spring anon, warmth of the sun
and seasonal refrain, time and again, our lives
may appear more normal.
As it should be, any day now, overly familiar
bleak terrains that encompass our soul will
speak differently in the sense of soon and
silence of transformation.
04/19/2024 j.g.l.
