The power of thought is like a flame,
Burning bright within our brain,
It starts with a seed in the mind's eye,
And grows into a vision that can touch the sky.
Thoughts shapes our world and guides our way,
Through every moment, every day,
For what we think, we bring to life,
With every thought, we change our strife.
......
Gratitude knots in my throat.
I am surrounded by the bounty of her sacrifices, yet I let it slip through my fingers.
My heart aches with the weight of her expectations, each one a burden I fail to shoulder.
I am the idle child in the garden of plenty, the squanderer of every gift bestowed upon me.
Peaches heated by my sun
A dress so simple and so cotton
Would that child ever come
Back home
Where she is forgotten
Would the wind caress the ankles
Like it did so many times before
Would that land eventually remember
That her daughter is left outdoors?
......
A secret moment of private thought
perhaps in thanks for mishap averted
or farewell
or supplication for relief of pain
…
some call it Prayer
They say he never sleeps,
Eyes wide, a steady gaze,
Not from the buzz of late-night thoughts,
But from the quiet pace of days.
Yet something lingers in his stillness,
A shadow wrapped in light,
A flicker of a restless mind,
Too quiet in the night.
......
A secret moment of private thought
perhaps in thanks for mishap averted
or farewell
or supplication for relief of pain
…
some call it Prayer
They say he never sleeps,
Eyes wide, a steady gaze,
Not from the buzz of late-night thoughts,
But from the quiet pace of days.
Yet something lingers in his stillness,
A shadow wrapped in light,
A flicker of a restless mind,
Too quiet in the night.
......
Ein Raum wird leer,
kein Laut,kein Schatten,
nur Staub in der Luft,
vom Licht getragen.
Die Schritte verhallen,
zurück bleibt nichts,
nur die Erinnerung,
verblasst wie Nebel im Morgen.
......
Gratitude knots in my throat.
I am surrounded by the bounty of her sacrifices, yet I let it slip through my fingers.
My heart aches with the weight of her expectations, each one a burden I fail to shoulder.
I am the idle child in the garden of plenty, the squanderer of every gift bestowed upon me.
sometimes the happy ending is the ending itself
Continue reading