People Say

People ask me what I do all day.

I sit quietly,  and I weep, is my reply.

So sad, they guess.

Yes – a bit of that. But mostly I am still, to think of things that move me.

And when I’ve moved myself to tears I know, I’ve rubbed up against some truth.

You have so much potential, they say.

I say, and patience too.

For me, you see, the yet is best to come.

Caught in the Wash

Everything is random, by the forces upon them.

It flows, then it hurdles and cascades, thoughtless of the rocks.

It scatters, then gathers a great wave.

It crashes, it corodes and creates it anew.

We are the pebble, caught in the wash.

If we’re still as we tumble we can only just hear, the roar of whatever was, and the hiss of what will become.

And know, for a moment, that we are the where, where it all came to be.

Comfort

You, can fall asleep in my arms

And nothing will come of it

But the sweetest of dreams