Cool cloudy days,

Are beautiful,

Even breathtaking. ...

Behind erected walls,

Deep inside the dark,

In a heap of doubt, ...

At the end,

It’s the small,

Caring gestures, ...

Gifts,

Come in many forms.

Wrapped in silk, ...

A rainbow of colors,

As the sun sets,

And the sky, ...

Bare walls,

Unoccupied chairs,

An empty space. ...

A setting sun,

With patches of life,

Painted on the ground. ...

Growing up alone,

Was hard.

Guitar, melancholy songs, ...

Perspective matters.

For many years,

Other points of view,...

Things I can’t see,

Yet rather believe exist.

Just there, ...

In younger days,

I likewise wanted,

To leave something behind. ...

I find it curious,

And rather inexplicable,

That even inanimate objects, ...

A happy flower,

Or a friendly,

Ten-eyed beast. ...

Growing up,

I was taught to climb.

Stairs, trees, mountains, ...

If we were all,

Meant to look,

And feel the same, ...

White, blank pages…

A mystical place,

Where imagination roams, ...

Not all kings,

Wear crowns of gold.

A few are modest, ...

Time has flown…

It feels like yesterday,

Yet it has been more. ...

Densely packed,

Yet varied.

Some are open, ...

Some obscure,

Quiet corners of our world,

Are too dangerous, ...