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Their Pasture

He tilts his head up towards the sun, looking through the trees as light filters through their branches. The sheep looks around the pasture, luscious and glowing golden. He is swaying in the quiet breeze that brushes past him…

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If you must ever go, enter my life gently. Transcendant forever. Crossing walls, wishing they weren’t real. Weren’t felt by us. Our friendship. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know. If it wasn’t ours, it could never end; never begin.…

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at dawn

we sit on the docks waves pushing and pulling against the pier coming and going as we lose all our days tomorrows and todays years and years lead us here, all testament to our loneliness craze. Poetry and photography…

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Finding meaning
in the chaos

weekly poems, posts, and writings, right here.

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