In earlier times,

I often watched him,

Walking down the street, ...

Blemishes,

Limitations,

Scars. ...

Early morning serenity,

As the world sleeps,

Waters quietly speak, ...

Growing up,

I often heard,

“Strong men don’t cry.” ...

Locked doors are enigmatic.

For often stories,

Of daring adventures, ...

On rare nights,

Spirits of times past,

Awaken to stare, ...

In earlier days,

In flight,

I craved to be seen, ...

Tranquility of forests,

Whispers on the breeze,

Wandering souls, ...

It may be cloudy,

Or hard to believe,

But the path, ...

Reality,

Is naked.

Always there. ...

Leaving,

Is often sad,

But worth the flight. ...

Door closed,

Path blocked,

Inside in silence, ...

There are times,

I too feel chained,

Braced for the day, ...

Disguises,

Come in many forms.

Yet they cannot, ...

Every living thing,

Eventually dies,

But may be reborn, ...

Early Spring days,

Carry a freshness,

That magically rejuvenate, ...

Oftentimes,

Wandering mindlessly,

Creates a tranquility, ...

Teardrops,

Scratches,

Marks. ...

When it is time,

I’d like my ashes,

To be planted, ...

Some days,

What abundantly grows,

In nearby forests, ...