Quiet

In quiet places,

even in the quietest little nooks,

there is always a roar of unspoken words and memories.

For the quietest places are the most curious.

Laugh

I stare at the splintered wood
of the little chair I like to sit in
and it reminds me of Goldilocks,
and that makes me laugh.

Look

Look at the dawn,how the crest of the hill meets the horizon...how I wish I could preserve it

Look at the morning, the doe stepping so elegantly...how I wish I could picture it until my days are done

Look at the afternoon, the sky a calm blue, the sun itself seems to be relaxing...I know I will always treasure the sight as long as I live

Look at the evening, the pink, orange, and red unfold before your eyes...your eyes widen at the sight

Look at the night, how the stars brighten the sky, and now you lay in bed thinking of the previous wonders...and the ones yet to come.

chair

A chair I have loved,

has stood for ages it seems,

As I write this poem,

I curl my bare feet around its sturdy limbs.

my words hand in hand, slowly spin into

a soft pursuit of happiness, as a weaver cast

its yarn  into a loom.

my letters click into place and soon

they  finish their job.