Daily Poets

A morose chasm,exists between,the spaces we can be,and where we think we can see;Like a lost sheep in the forest,who bleats and calls,but doesn’t realize that,there was never any path.

A small breeze,lifting a feather from the Earth,as it rises up into the sky,dancing,flying,diving,sinking.

It’s the idea that you’ll wake up,more aware and alive,than you’ve ever been,Ready to tackle the day,with a gusto that you’ve,never shown before,And feeling like a whirlwind,whipping through your day,because it hasn’t happened yet.

The easiest thing in the world,is to sit and be silent,lost in someone else’s thoughts,as the whir of your brain,comes to a complete stop,but the harder thing to say,is that it wasn’t an accident,because you sat down there,and started the timeless stare.

Blankets to thin,with dreams of a loud din, As the crowd calls for fire,from a long awaited desire, For the discomfort to pass,when the fan is off at last.

Jerking from side to side,along a nearly midnight ride, Too warm to sleep,sweating without a peep, A long awaited stretch,and another ride to catch.

Smooth blue on old pulp,takes longer to dry than write,but holds the time close.

What a sight to behold,up in the sky,flitting along,like a day gone by, Smaller than a finger,stretched out to sea,flitting ever faster,than the wings of a bee, There’s no danger here,amongst the cattails’ ear, Just a bug on its way,to the rest of its day.