When the words are lazy

Some days The stories come to nothing Worries pile up Thoughts spin And the whole business of living seems to be rusting quietly deteriorating silently striating pieces of my mind like they might mean something but they don’t They really don’t Nothing seems to be contained built up into something of worth At least when […]


Some say I think too much What would they know  In the dark quiet hours When the stars shine And I’m sitting Knitting Thoughts together And the words come hovering  Like butterflies To settle Perch upon my Mind How would someone who has never Played with words Never heard Them whisper Softly Mournfully Joyfully Trumpeting […]