Not all barbecues,

Are the same.

Like people, …

Old,

Closed doors,

Hold stories inside. …

Today I’ll climb a tree,

To discover,

What beyond I see. …

How I appear,

In the world outside,

Is but an image, …

That which lays beyond.

The obscure memories,

Buried in the fog, …

Some gifts,

Come from the heart.

Wrapped with memories, ,,,

To freeze,

Is a part of life.

But to melt, …

Many paths,

Look the same.

Which today, …

Things foreign,

Can at times,

Resemble dreams. …

His stories,

Were filed away,

Behind closed doors. …

I crave tranquility,

Inside.

But around me, …

On a rare,

Blue-skied winter day,

A galloping white horse, …

On days,

When the sun,

Paints the sky, …

To arrive,

Where I dream,

I must cross valleys, …

Days,

When life wore me down.

Slumped in a corner, ,,,

Inside,

They patiently wait.

Ancient memories, …

It is the roots,

That are deep,

In plain sight, …

Maybe one day,

We’ll live in a world,

Without labels, …

Sometimes,

My eyes seem to refuse,

What they readily see. …

Handles freeze.

The insecure,

Cling. …