Laid back or laziness

                                          A laid-back life is like a breeze that moves the willow tree, It keeps you calm and gives you room to breathe and just be free. But laziness is like a fog that keeps you in your bed, It takes away the open road and leaves a cloud instead. The peaceful mind enjoys the sun and watches clouds roll past, It knows just when to take a break and when to move at last. The lazy heart forgets to plant the seeds that make us grow, And misses out on all the joy that busy people know. One is a choice to slow things down and let your spirit rest, To look around at what you have and feel that you are blest. The other is a heavy heavy weight that holds your feet in place, And keeps you from the happy path and finishes the race. So rest your bones beneath the shade when all your work is through, But do not let the sleepy dust take over all...
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Pain and Sorrow

The shadow wears the sun for a mask.

It rises when the day should end, a hush,

And paints the world in shades of fading gold,

Before it drowns the last triumphant blush.

The pain is not a shout, a single blow,

But slow decay, the gnawing of a mouse.

It takes away the color from the glow,

And leaves behind a hollow, silent house.


This sadness isn't sudden, sharp, or new,

It is an heirloom passed from past to present.

A heavy deadness clinging to the view,

A constant, faithful, unwelcome tenant.

I walk on solid ground, or so I think,

Until a hole appears beneath my feet,

And with a terrifying, sudden blink,

I start a plummet, endless and complete.


The world goes on, a blur of sound and light,

But I am sealed inside a fog of grey.

The laughter of others feels wrong and bright,

A distant land I cannot reach today.

I long for words that never leave my throat,

To name the ache, to make the burden known.

A ship adrift, a silent moat,

And all my grief is mine alone to bear.


So I sit still, a quiet, patient host,

For grief that brings its own humid, tropical heat.

I offer it my time, my life, my most

Vulnerable self, in this slow, aching defeat.

The heart that should be brave is now a drum,

Pounding a sorrow that has no true end.

And in this silent prison, I become

The very wound I try in vain to mend.

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