what shall I write you on this maudlin morning

what shall I write you on this maudlin morning
that peers between clouds over the hillside

what shall I tell you that you haven’t already heard
what truths and lies that hide behind my words

what shall I keep from you in future safe storage
those little white lies we disguise behind our eyes

what shall you take from me and what will I give
this moment or that or the past so recently forgot

what shall the day bring if nothing’s worth repeating
more clouds, more rain, more words, more sighs

what shall I write you on this maudlin morning
that pours between us like an ocean divide

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you are my thesaurus

you are my thesaurus
my concise o.e.d.
the verse and the chorus
to life’s symphony

be with me forever
my alphabet friend
bound tightly together
on you I depend

you are my wise mentor
my counsel, my lore
with words to explore
I will want for no more

if

if there was a word
I would write it
if there was a sunrise
I would paint it
if there was a song
I would sing it
if there was a doubt
I would crush it
if there was a way
I would find it
if there was a hope
I would grasp it

that time of year again

it’s that time of year again
when days draw dark curtain evenings
shorter than the nights are long
and words begin to fail me

as does the light from a depleted sun
that barely scratches holes in the clouds
or penetrates my goose pimpled skin
held together with cold reluctance

the birds seem happy enough
I keep them well fed with encouragement
their songs and chatterings valued
more than they could ever know

but still the words fail me
and with it my engagement with the world
easier to huddle down and retreat
when it’s that time of year again