Time’s Migration

The furrows inscribed
Upon a person’s brow, tell
Life stories somehow,
Mention of the romantic
Days, or loving gone astray.
Beauty, it may not
Seem, but experience gleaned
Spends like precious coin
When shared with those who follow
Trying to avoid sorrow.
We would not grow old,
Having minds and strength slip past,
Leaving us each day,
A little frail, gaunt, less bright,
As fading wildflowers tend.
However, it is
A gift seeing this time, fine,
Victory, we stayed
For the path was riddled
With mines set to hinder ways.
The lines resonate
Each one proclaims a weight, debt,
Bow to circumstance,
Paid in hours spent, smiles, tears wept,
Joy retained, love created.

Prompt
Though we are more than numbers piling up, sometimes it is apt to reflect upon life seasons. Create something that tells the tale of days spent in verse, prose, drawing, painting, sculpture – whatever fits your gifted fancy.

Today I Am Thankful
Alex and I went to Dairy Queen.
Alex found Maui when he was lost.
My muse took me out to see the view.
I reminded Alex to get hand-trucks.
I use Moleskine notebooks and pleasurable pens.

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