Please, I ask for your patience
as I chip away slowly at the wall
dividing you from me.
I understand the divide it enforces
because I feel it too,
although most times, I enjoy it.
That’s the problem,
for you despite it.
Keep trying I will,
to knock it down and prevent rebuilding
when I look the other way.
Pull me back from the routine of hustle,
racing against time to optimize productivity,
working fast and diligent
because I am the only one.
Pull me back from the hustle,
make me slow down enough
to have a conversation of leisure
Remind me of other worthy goals
besides the numbers and dates.
Pull me back to myself
like only you can.
The sun has come up today
just as the song promised yesterday
as trees, grass and houses
come into view
by the sky turning soft blues and pinks
The sun will come out tomorrow, too.
More beauty awaits us then.
It was when I set my mind
to listen to the words,
not just the music,
I heard what I had been missing
that it was already there
all this time.
Dreaming of the impossible
the never-happened, never-will-happen.
Dreaming of a past which does not belong to me
and may not belong to anyone.
The sights, sounds, conversations, feelings,
they are too real
to be imaginary.
They must be real.
I want them to be real.
Leaves remaining from last year,
collect and accumulate in a pile
littering the ground with browns and dull greys.
How many layers are there?
All I see are the new ones on top,
hiding the older ones underneath
likely in varying stages of decomposition.
There they lie.
Rustling ever so slightly in the breeze
are the light, new ones,
settling motionless, heavy with age and water
are the the old ones,
Up through the middle though
lives a tree
growing new bright and green leaves
and blossoms of dark fuschia and cotton white.
So odd it seems
how life can flourish from the base
of death, of decay,
but my eyes do not deceive me.
Perhaps, the leaves offer comfort.
Perhaps, the leaves provide warmth.
Perhaps, the leaves supply nourishment.
But perhaps, the leaves are a hindrance,
keeping the tree in the past,
Despite the offered comfort,
go the leaves must.
I gathered mine,
will keep gathering as new ones fall,
growing through and beyond
I cannot deny
the weight pressing on my chest.
and the more it lingers
the heavier the weight becomes
until it crushes me.