devastation
is not a good state to be in
for too long
yet sometimes
like the darkest hours of the night
occurring just before dawn
merging into devastation
can be a cure
for despair
integrity
how to be private
is the secret
for every official
to master
with humble elegance
and modest honesty
that not everything is to be revealed
does not mean
lies are justified
knowing how to be private
is the key
to every door
where every lie told
is only sealing freedom
deeper into the darkness of ignorance
leaks
soaking rain
penetrating
even places
it was not supposed to
revealing leaks
for the heart to escape the prison
memory has spun around it
showing
that beyond the threshold of want
is another world
checkpoint
having reached the border
of the county of dreams
no identification can take the wanderer
any further
that is a frontier
which can by all means
only be crossed
naked
romance
the evening star
had an appointment with the moon
right over the treetops last night
in a tender romance that was ended
before most noticed
though when planets are crossing pathways
they always leave deeper trails
than most are willing to
acknowledge
acknowledged or not
nothing can be done
to stop them
essence
rain
and wind
and wind
and rain
falling through naked trees
as is the golden light
when sun is allowed
to have a word to say
there is no time of the year
more appropriate
to observe the essence of things
than winter
punctuality
there is a certain limit
beyond which
it is no longer possible
to be late
but it might be
that body and mind find themselves
on each side of that limit
torn between knowledge of bones
and knowledge of brain
some spend life worrying
how to get to live the life they want
others spend life just happy with
what they have
and maybe the distance between the two
is just a shift of perspective
cycles
gentle drops of rain
and the sound of wet wheels against the tarmac
cold is no longer penetrating
only gently reminding
that winter is here
though
buds on the trees
prepare their splendour
a little bit more
every day
life is still prevailing
no matter how many
cycles of death
routine
breaking the routine
seems almost as challenging
as creating it
not in a wish to destroy anything
but to observe
whether one has become the routine
or the routine is still only supporting the one
that is
light
leaning into
soft, golden light
beyond every earthly matters
as the morning fog is illuminated
by streetlamps
reverberating the sensation
of a sleepless soul
reminding
how beauty is to be found
where the mind is at peace
and the heart wide open