It no longer matters,

Where the road leads,

As long as with honesty, …

It is in the murky depths,

Of turbulent days,

That clarity begins, …

There were times,

I too fell,

With eyes wide open, …

Strange colors,

Sparse cloudy skies,

Blanketing turbid waves, …

My father often told me,

Not to take life seriously.

It was not something, …

Where the green,

Can everywhere be seen,

Where birds fly, …

It is now,

Those rare days,

When the child inside, …

I can’t say I smiled,

When after each summer,

School once more began. …

Colors and simplicity,

Mixed with creativity,

Is an irresistible blend. …

Much from the past,

The youth of today,

Do not comprehend. …

The guitar of the future,

Will have many strings,

Criss-crossing, …

Friends,

Those rare finds,

Who care, …

It seems not long ago,

That in a carriage I rode.

Yet it must so be …

Our local farmer,

Grows vegetables.

He charges a fair price, …

It is in the empty halls,

Where few seldom walk,

Where I find the peace, …

Some days the road seems,

Overflowing with fraught,

Curves everywhere bending, …

Under wide blue skies,

They grew from seeds,

Welcoming the sun and rain, …

It is those few,

Who bind us,

And often unseen, …

It is behind tall doors,

And brick facades,

Where for years, …

It seems strange,

How with age,

Clearly I perceive, …