Between lines

Do we fit in seamless
invisible spaces caught between lines,
tracing the letters with fingers
reading each one with careful focus
seeing memories left behind.
Timeless classic forgotten
till brought to light in a play list
sorted in order
and set aside
waiting for the hand to seek
and open to find
the magic again unleashed
retouch the heart with yellowed pages
drifting through time and space
a child once more.
We become that which we read
diving in deeper with each page turned
mirroring lives as we realize
someone knew the way we feel
and wrote it in a verse
as if just for us
to see ourselves within
the masterpiece created by one.


Hearts and horses,
once broken can never
return to their selves,
simplistic and wild
tamed to the hand
waiting for contact
a soothing touch
owner and owned
as something missing
sits on the sidelines
like unspoken words
and change is hanging
on the line.
There is no expectation
in the docile ghost
that lingers a relic
of what’s long forgotten,
a pet led along
we wonder where the wolf has gone
in eyes that gaze beyond,
seeing something unspoken
something beyond comprehension
for the wild will remember
tucked away in memory
before there was that moment
when will was surrendered
but the faith lies strong
that the truth will rise up
and change will break free
and broken will be
merely a word
meaning a falacy.

Driving to work today, broken hearts and horses filled my mind, did not have time to pull over and jot it down, so now reflecting, this is the cream that rises to the top….in a good place, just letting loose the mind before sleep conquers. Peace and blessings and counting down to Mondays eclipse…if I could do back flips I would….there is an excitement and a strong desire for cleansing change, listening to the wind. 💜

Phantom mirage

We can not always see

that which may be before us

caught in the shadow of a moments that slips

into itself and then into the hour full,

we weave a million thoughts in a heartbeat

like dreams remembered upon waking,

hazy recollections of this and that,

strange sensations of being there yet not

caught in the vortex of a mind so tired

we slip into ourselves like a well worn shoe,

feeling the imprint of where we’ve been

yet sensing where it is we are traveling to,

when we slip into the scene

we become the phantom mirage

poised on the verge of becoming

clearer with each passing smile and word,

understanding more than we can express

as we move through the jungles of this space

we gather our cloak about us,

our wistful shadow that always follows

wrapped around like the softest hug

we take those steps into the mirror of time

and hear the silence of a heartbeat so strong.

Beautiful photo by: Gerry van der Walt