Play on….

The curtains lift come sunrise

Another act…Another day

Cast and Crew are called to set

All hold parts within the play

The stage is inconsistent

Always changing props and scenes

Each player has a story

Plots and endings…unforeseen


Her Book…

I viewed the world from her lap as a child..

She would often say if not for her non-existent talent

she would write a book..

Little did she realize…she had written a breathing book..

I was her paper..her voice the pen..her words the ink..


Let Me Fly…

When I die spare Mothers ground

I’ll choose no box to lay me down

The clothes I’ve worn since came my birth

Leave blow to winds above the earth

So long encased by worldly things

When I succumb…I crave my wings…


…has been…

Can it really be

the “days of old”

are those from my prime

and now all are called  “back in time”

How is it today

tell me how can it be

that the face in my mirror

is my mother not me

Has it been quite so long

or perhaps I just blinked

and I think I’ve stopped growing

cause I feel like I’ve “shrinked”

And what will become

of the young one within

or is she now fated

to become a has been??