Your Interests About

A faded light, across the darkened room,
portrays relief from the shadowed gloom.
A brightness, I see from afar,
not realizing it is not a light
but a bright, heavenly star.

Small bytes of noise
is what I want
but wordy prose
is what I got.

I know I write of sadness
and I write of woe,
but I will tell you one thing,
I am not ready to go.
When I go there will be a sound
of bells ringing loudly, when
my written words abound.
We will be free citizens when
we vote out this selfish man.

Cueva de las Manos (Spanish for Cave of Hands) Located in the Valley of the Pinturas River, province of Santa Cruz, Argentina, The art in the cave dates from 13,000 to 9,000 years ago. Bone-made pipes were used for spraying the paint on the wall of the cave to create silhouettes of hands. Read more  --   See more images and learn more 

My mind is quite strong,
so I've been told.
Sometimes when I write
words come out cold.
Why is that, you may say?
I'm uncertain my mood
and thoughts get in the way.
Some words are quite soft,
while others, harsh and hard.
It matters not their origins,
or if they're dirt in the yard.

A gathering of people,
all wearing a mask.
I didn't recognize a single face
until the masks were
removed. It was not
surprising as I now understood,
the wearing of masks
was partially good.

He'll come for me,
in the still of the night.
I'll go quite easily
and I will not fight,
for when the Night Rider,
calls out my name,
I will quickly answer,
while here you'll remain.
When the Night Rider
knocks on our door,
I will answer the knock
and be here no more.

A swirling wind,
as Dust Devils climb,
spinning the dirt
into small spirals.
A gust, a burst
on a breezy day
will clear the air,
or so they say,
as I watch
leaves blow away.

#saratogapassage #wherearethemountains #hardtobreathe #needsomerain #another2020disaster #smokeonthewater