I leave words
falling on the floor
scrawled on paper
abandoned to fate
behind the clock
under the pillow
smudged with ink
to-do’s that don’t
memories to forget
important as nothing
until some disappear
like they escaped
crawling into darkness
tearing a heart
upsetting a life
not on purpose
The world that surrounds us is hard,
Its conceit, to make us hard too.
We abandon the soft cloth of childhood
To dress in the uniform of being an adult.
The uniform does not fit every soldier,
It snags in places that discomforts many.
Concrete and its makers are hard
But we are smooth, soft and blood filled.
Our wrinkles are where memories live,
Stored there until they fall to earth again.
The aged mind finds whimsy once more
Where shadows of the dead and the living dance.
Some days we are the stone,
more often, the leaf that’s blown away.
Our lives, the shallow channels
for the disconnected, where we share our
attachment to love and its many miseries.