quiet legacy
The path through fatherhood may look like a ball of knotted yarn…
Author: windstrewn
Average Dude. Sometimes, I Write.
sandbox souvenirs
When I was Icarus on a banana-seat Schwinn…
bizarre bazaar
Life is an esplanade…
sarcasm has a crush on the truth
They don’t look the same, taste the same or smell the same…completely, unanimously, inarguably different…
first
Love is insatiably selfish…
semi-souled sorrow
So were the halves of one homeless man…
where chains remain
He sighed, “Unwelcome, yes, but I had to come…To beg of you your private shoulder…”
missed marks
Hope has no mark missed more markedly…
south of infinity
Perhaps tomorrow. Or in my fifties. Maybe when I’m one-hundred-and-twelve…
the strength of ten men…
I have a mind to sling it, in the most physically awkward and ridiculously violent way…
uncompliant
Give in? They say don’t. And I won’t…
a sailor’s dream
…it’s okay for my heart to have a few irreconcilable differences with my mind…
quizzing glass
To decipher the whispering hieroglyphs hung…
heartache
True heartache is a restless, hissingly dangerous snake…
again and when
The Wind, Her meaning was not to grieve, nor to sorrow with me then…
