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An image begins as a poetic thought…capturing that is hard. I try but I fail. One day…one day.
Why, Too Many
I have questions-
One too many…
They begin with why
and other words thereafter
tag along for the ride.
Outside my window
is a hot morning in grey-
refreshing promise
of rain later today.
The aster and yarrow swelter
and melt, like spent lovers
under hot sheets-
and passion’s raw heat.
The meadow’s shadows shift,
dancing upon the breeze,
a kaleidoscope of shade and colors
falling where they please.
Why do aching and longing
feel entirely the same?
Why do I miss something?
It’s a realization- I cannot tame.
I wait and ache in the way
the bird taking wing
and the blossom in pink
anticipate the coming spring.
Why can I not find it?
Why do I not know what it is?
Why do I miss it?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
