Two Poems

I find the act of writing poetry to be somewhat cathartic, If I had the time to do it more often, I might start getting better at it. I will use this blog to track my progress, that is assuming there is progress.

Of this train

Smiling
The subtle wash of two hands
Your fingers grace my palm
Knowing
That morning has been broken
By the fragments
Of Light
Which illuminate the beauty of
Your Eyes
Drawn closer by the movement
Of this Train


Passive

Empty boats, silent sitting on passive water
Sometimes I sit and watch them
And make believe that I am the wind

Brilliant sun, hanging like a picture on the painted sky
Sometimes I sit and touch it
And make believe that I am divisible by

You and I

Echoes of voices touched by your death
Sometimes I sit and listen to them
And make believe that I am the reason

Why