Time

Slipping so fast

As I grasp on tightly,

It slithers away,

Stealthily innocent.

Moving, always moving;

Flowing, always flowing.

Amazing, appreciated slowly,

Unlike its rapid route,

Of going so fast,

When I want it to slow.

Or when it falls away,

Out of reach,

Uncomprehended, but accepted.

An unknown stranger.

Swoosh, and it is gone;

Forever.

Into my hands,

The Miracle of Time.

Whistle to the Wind

When I whistle

My secrets,

The song of my world,

A melody so fragile,

Comes bellowing,
Unfurled.

I tell nature,

Who's listening,

Everything I know,

Through the tool,

Of communicating,

My song as I go.

The wind sweeps,

Unto me,

And carries my words away,

And the tune ,

That I whistle,

Is lost in the day.

Journal

Journal

Binding my thoughts

Keeping my secrets

Holding my place in life

The Season of Poetry

The season of poetry

Has arrived

Bright is the sun

Shining in the clouds

Crisp is the air

Surrounding our souls

Colourful is the world

We are thrust into graciously

Pristine are the leaves

Falling to reality

Happy am I

That the season has begun

River

A river

Flowing

On and on

As the tears fall

Drop by drop

And I cry

Heart to heart

With myself and my emotions

As the river goes on

Continuous

Line by line

Made up of more

Than the eye can see

Meanings

One by one

Connecting

Piece to piece

Forming a story

Of my life