The door was half open

or half closed. A silent message

of entry or release. Quiet held the

air hostage. Outside sounds found

another place to speak into day.

Moments of decisions gnaw at choices.

The whereabouts of capturing a thought

or driving it out hung in the balance.

Each life walks a line, visible to the

traveler, hidden from the weak.

The artist within shapes the canvas

with colors and shadows.

Half open, half closed, the seeds of

direction call to everyone.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s