Thoughts upon this evening’s stroll

My feet fall upon  pavement. The sound changes to a quiet thud when I leave pavement for grass, earth. My eyes move skyward, this sky lacks light. Save for the stars. Stars glow, brutal furnaces flickering gently, silently. They strangely beckon me, who can not reply. Upon this rock,  far from the center of anything, galaxy-wise, much less regarding the universe. Away, away they sit, gentle blue glowing spots upon the once blue sky. Watching me, calmly. Do they see this once boy, walking under the few remaining wisps of cloud, stretched thinly, not quite hiding the ancient eyes.

Orion’s gaze the most familiar. Memories from boyhood, back upon the grass, eyes drinking deep those ever present dots. Staying upon the shapes my parents, their parents, all humanity that’s ever been, they’ve all seen the same shapes. Though they, too, change, their slowness taxes the mind to consider. My life barely a suffer. Humanity’s entire experience too recent to register.  Pale blue dreams across the winds of history.

Depression

Life slowly withers.
Weeks blur into months, years.
Endless, death barely avoided.

Exhaustion claims easily,
More than its due.
Dreams attract more than before
Slumber’s taste sweeter, too.

Once I thought it’s simply age.
A body grown weary by tasks.
Now I know, this beast consumes
Quietly, chewing my soul

Silently.

Today upon tomorrow, motion

The future comes
Incessant, plodding
With ungainly speed. 
One may hide from 
This relentless motion 
Or cower. 
The future arrives
Soon. 
Prepared 
Or 
no.  

First Poem This Summer

Dreams laze across summer sunbeams. 
Flickers of dust briefly present 
Then lost upon life’s currents; 
Gentle summer breeze. 

Dream Flows

Nighttime moves below my dreams. 
Flowing visions upon clouds. 
Drifting skywards amongst the stars. 
Futures born amidst. 

Morning Thoughts

Unlit sky. 
Lower, slightly above the ground,
Trod by us. 
Pale, weak, faux-sun
Claws some mystery 
Back from the night. 

Nearly Ending : A Haiku

This week descending.
Towards the freedom of weekends.
Fleeting respite: ghosts.

A little haiku to bring you towards the weekend.

Enjoy!