It’s a life of folding. Pressed down,
gazing into unassuming faces, like clouds,
changing and then reshaping.
Songs are the blankets of thoughts. Small
voices provoke streams of words. Silence
opens the eyes to creative volumes.
We protect. Holding the candle of our flame close.
Opening up too soon could close us down.
Dreams tempt us for another night.
Its all about who we are
when were not who we are.
previously published in Tipton Poetry Journal
Roger Singer 