The Reason

Writing words rarely read
Threads from within my head
Untied knots, unraveled thoughts
Undoing lies that I was taught

Pieces of what I no longer need
Of some lost and forgotten deed
Wasted time on what I sought
Keeping the truths I have caught

Stoic Poetry

Always There

The past often taunts
Trying to breathe once more
But it must remain lifeless
Behind that locked door

It had its moments
As a present now gone
It will not live again
Fading in the coming dawn

We are here only now
No past, no future yet
Stitching life together
With time as the suture

Stoic Poetry


As Before

It can never be possible
Continuing on as before
You are not the same person
Locked away behind that door

In a world that can be cold
We must build our fires
Burning longings of the past
Into ashes upon the pyres

Time can never be held onto
Stolen or saved for another day
Killing time will return to haunt
To be accounted for in some way

Stoic Poetry

A Snapshot In Time

A Snapshot In Time

In an album hidden
Flashes of moments
Opened; pages turned
Often shown unbidden

Windows wiped clean
Not wanting to look
At pictures taped
Begging to be seen

They can be buried
But never remain so
Rising pain to pane
Always to be carried

Stoic Poetry

In The Beginning

The highchair beside the kitchen door,
my domain,;vantage point of my world.
On the linoleum checker board floor,
I played until my knees were sore.

The center of the world to me,
I learned to know as my mother
cooked and cleaned while I was free,
to grow into what I might be.

A world consisting of black and white,
as appropriate as the days television.
Images remembered vivid and bright,
raised by my mother in love and light.

Stoic Poetry

Who Am I

So long ago I became,
who they wanted me to be
They gave me a name,
and taught that this was me

Told how to talk and walk,
I questioned the visage
Long ago I changed,
to fit someone else’s image

Stoic Poetry