Closed, yet an illusion…

It’s her pictures

That open parts, ...

Overwhelmed,

But hanging on.

Refusing to drown. ...

Today it snowed,

So I cooled a few beers,

To later enjoy. ...

Morning mist,

Tangled branches without leaves,

Roots buried in the deep. ...

Just a few more steps,

And I’ll almost…

Be there. ...

Me at eighty…

A little bit of wood,

Written all I could, ...

A coffee with brandy please…

It feels cool,

Morning fog’s leaving, ...

Time to burn the past.

Old papers from a different life,

Blood from the same old knife. ...

My edges feel frozen,

But I’m alive.

I have dreams, ...

I too dream of flying.

In my heart I do.

In my mind, I’m afraid to. ...

Delicate,

Intricate,

Soft, ...

Orange, in a sea of green…

Not belonging, misunderstood, unaccepted?

Perhaps. ...

Summer beach cabins,

Locked for the season.

Foggy mornings, ...

Even mailboxes cry,

And become rusty with time…

Sad stories,...

Then wait for the sun

To slowly disrobe me,

Around noon? ...

Cold nights,

Deserted streets,

Time to clear the mind…

Pages from an old life.

Days long passed.

Time to say goodbye. ...

Hail landing on the skylight,

Playing nature’s melody,

A gentle tap, tap. ...

White sand.

It’s in the desert somewhere.

Close by. ...

Leafless, tangled branches…

It’s how I feel right now.

Yes, there is light, ...