Little Light

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Ought I bake a cake with this
One I whip up on the fly
A pretty thing to be consumed
Ultimately?

Do I don the corduroy
Deep thinking, feigned or actual
With elbows patched so scholarly
Egotistically!

Shall I sit alone with this
As ancient wisdom would advise
Perhaps eternally, but seek
Tranquility.

Or will I simply walk with you
In sweet-smart cameraderie
Joining hands from East to West
Intimately….

Bailer

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Never, during his entire mad, unmanaged spree
Could he see, though he claimed to look
Could he understand, though he claimed to know
Could he love, though he claimed a heart
I, then, left cut, scattered, chasing, winded

Summit

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Like a trudge up a hill in the mud
In my Sunday best and all
Clearly, I’m doing it wrong

All wrong

Eyes shut, I’m to don a red cap
In the end, all will be great again
Clearly, as mud it is

The Art of Making

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The Scene: You are an actor and I, an epic script
With minds to set the screen afire
With hope upon our lips

The Method: Be emboldened and feel the risk with me
We’ll project timeless, endless strength
We’ll cast doubt to the sea

Last Ditch

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Have you felt invisible
Made from supernatural
Then unmade by someone’s lack?
So have some of us

We become as sunflowers, though
We watch for a flicker
We turn in accordance
We thrive in The Light