perfect enough
There will be a day
I’ll realize that just me
Is perfect enough
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There will be a day
I’ll realize that just me
Is perfect enough
snowy owl lands
camoflauged in the white snow
his eyes tell the truth
What a strange thing when lightness turns to dark
Happiness, confidence and ease collapsing inward
Or maybe dissipating out
Where once the ground was stable and the air pure
Now fog surrounds and the terrain- rocks and stones and twists and turns
I take a deep breath
forward motion the only way
I’ve waded through fog before on different terrain
The fog has always lifted
Because that is its nature
And this is mine
facing left, she saw not what was right
right facing evaded her
all that was to be done
with the house to ourselves, my wee girl asked to sleep with me that night
as a treat, i said yes, knowing these moments would disappear at any time
when i came to bed, she lay, doll in her arms
the street light shone a glow upon her face
my head upon my pillow
i lay silently
my eyes upon her closed eyes
studying her face in ways which i could not
through the busyness of the days
i marveled at her beauty
the perfection in her face
the little soul that lay inside
i marveled at how beautiful she is
and I marveled more at how she does in fact
look just like me
a mirrored reflection
slightly askew only due to the years upon my face
and then i marveled a final time
at how i could see such beauty in her face
and yet not the same in mine
when in fact
she is the perfect image
of me
from time to time she thought
she’d seen it or heard it
a small flicker in the sky
or a distant hum
that’s it, she’d think
that’s it, my check in time has arrived
but there were momentary hesitations and the time passed
check in time delayed
and she’d stand guard for another sign
attention divided on every task
for she dared not miss the next great sign
but perhaps the course had diverted
lettint others off and on
or perhaps she’d been so busy watching for flickers and listening for hums
that she missed that daily check in sign
right before her eyes
Melancholy meanders
Shifting shapes
Living listlessly all around
Poking and prodding
Finding fault lines
Entering
Sealing in the light
Sunday’s search sadly
Sanctuaries save souls
Sometimes
So seek slowly
Salivation soaks
So sweetly
standing in line
patiently awaiting
the next great sign
my number drawn
or name plucked from a hat
it seems a waiting game
but for a game without a name
until then
i will wait quietly in line
for the next great sign
nonsensical stories
upon a page
interpreted in waves
decoded by some
in certain ways
tempting understanding
and adding a little faith
confessions are self-serving
Life somehow is chasing rainbows with a stranger; with that, you'll never be lonely.
With a Challenger-deep Sentiments
Words are beautiful beyond meanings
Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith
weird alien 👽
the literary asylum
Understanding someone’s way with words isn’t as simple as you think.
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WITHIN ARE PIECES OF ME
Poetry from an English Hart
.......is writing
Lucidly in shadows. Poetry from a hand that writes misty.
Occasional Musing
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
Because poetry. And petals.
thoughtsgather 