Writing can be, like a candles taper,
If words do not, go on paper.
The taper starts, small at the top,
As it burns, the wax will drop,
To the base of the candle stick,
Words fall like wax, from the wick.
Much like the words, I write today,
Some will stick, most will go away.
I have the bedroom window open
and the wind moves the slats.
Awakening, I forget where I am;
still in our bed, toasty warm.
I hear the splatter of new rain,
tap dancing on the roof
as clouds loose their torrent
on the thirsty earth.
Joined together or be apart?
A good question for the heart.
Do we stand alone or with another?
Time will tell, Sisters and Brothers.
Off we go into a life of pain.
Away from love's sad refrain.
I care not about the fate of me,
Just leave me now. Let me be.