the tick of the clock
a heartbeat, low, sonorous
dark clouds moving north
the tick of the clock
a heartbeat, low, sonorous
dark clouds moving north
amidst ruins a
lonely statue contemplates
the meaning of life
from above a gong
time for meditation
extending the tone
with pen and paper
my head bowed over the page
in another world
another grey day
I find the colours of hope
etched on memory
in the vase one rose
intensifies its colour
the others fading
many cloudy nights
without the twinkle of stars
to raise our spirits
walking through the woods
we sit for a while and watch
bright leaves unfurling
the beauty of trees
dressed in buds and spring blossom
a glorious day
reclaiming my life
blocking out my calendar
marking out my beat
The Art of Prose and Poetry
Eclectic Mix of Genealogy, Bipolar Depression, Mental Health, Mental Illness, DNA, History, First Nations (aka Native Americans), Military History, World War II, Cemeteries, CrowdFunding, Christianity, Authors/Writing, and Gaming (RPGs, Board Games, Wargames, etc.).
Detroit Richards
um...
Responsible Spirituality of Recovery
writer
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Poetry, sharing, and sharing poetry
From loss to freedom