I am often asked,

“What do you do,

With all your time?” ...

Birds soaring in flight,

Are majestic.

So are the many, ...

Trying to reach,

Where I desired to go,

Was not as easy, ...

Growing up,

I too collected stamps.

They helped me dream, ...

Perhaps I too,

Am like snow.

Pure and white, ...

There are old parts,

Frozen in me,

That I still carry, ...

I care not to relax,

Watching the days,

Slowly floating by, ...

It no longer matters,

If my footprints are erased,

Or disappear in time. ...

Trying to escape,

Is often easier,

Than it may seem. ...

There are days,

I can clearly see,

And intensely feel, ...

And now,

He too is gone.

To a place I cannot see, ...

The hardest choices,

I’ve made in life,

Were often the best, ...

Memories we create,

In time fade.

I find it sad, ...

Perhaps sunsets,

Are only beautiful,

Because I was taught, ...

I stood there and gazed,

But couldn’t understand.

In earlier times, ...

Studying the essence,

Hiding beneath the mask,

Would have served me better, ...

It is enough,

To partially comprehend,

Yet deeply believe. ...

One day,

I too shall fall,

And what is left behind, ...

I am made,

Essentially the same way.

Clunky, ...

To be open,

Melt when it’s time,

Lend a helping hand, ...