Been a funny old day. Some ups and some downs. The world is ...

Lopsided

We don't care, not enough
About what's going wrong
We feign indifference
When we need to be strong

Eyes averted, we walk 
Glued to the other side
When we should roll up sleeves
We just crocodile cried

And now the time has come
To be counted as one
To pull out our fingers
And to get the job done

So more more excuses
And hey! No more faint praise
Let's do what we know's right
And mend our wayward ways

Time is measured by minutes, hours and days. The sun comes up and it goes down. We go to bed; we rise. There is a routine.

It doesn't work for me.

Discord

This chord called time
Starts me off, thinking
Traps my sad thoughts
And leaves me blinking

And yet three notes
In any which scale
First, third and fifth
Make musical ale 

It soothes my brow
Dispels my despair
Recharges love
And recreates care

Will I forgive?
Forget what went wrong?
Find harmony
And sing you my song?

All that I know
Is the breath I take
Keeping strict time  
To melt my heartache

A single phrase can sear through muddled thinking, leaving a scar which will remain visible for all to see. Emotional distance did it for me today.

Emotional distance

One step back
Hackles rising
Time to leave?
Not surprising

When someone dies, for those that are left behind to grieve, the days that follow are a blur. We stumble through funeral arrangements, donning black clothes and meeting members of the family that we haven't seen for years.

A year later, as the anniversary approaches, the process is reversed. The numbness creeps over those that grieve, a few days ahead of what was a shocking event.

One year on

I couldn’t let today go by
Without a word or two
To say how very sad I am
And that we’re missing you

A year ago, the lights went out
After your life begun
So there’s no candle on a cake
To celebrate you’re one

But one shines from within your heart
A flame for all to see
And today being your birthday
We’ll sing, but silently

Because we’ll never forget you
Precious bundle of joy
Our whisper of lost happiness
Breathtaking baby boy

Guided writing can reveal interesting messages. Where do they come from? Answers on a postcard to ...

The pen

Sinister thoughts traverse a page
At an optimistic slant
Descenders betray a passion
And the tendency to rant

The middle zone has lost its edge
Yet the pen reveals the word
As they say, those who remain dumb
It’s mightier than the sword