This Bird

The day was long

This day was hot

I went to sit 

In my favorite 

Writing spot. 
Pen in hand, I had 

A thought; when

Suddenly a bird 

Flew into my 

Favorite writing spot.
He looked at me

His beak so close

He had a worm 

For me to see.
He dropped the worm 

On my writing pen

Then flew away.
What a strange thing

For a bird to do; 

To bring a worm

And leave it 

For me.
Fathomless thought 

This bird

And me.

Home Sick

Have you ever been homesick 

For things that are forever past

For things that are not meant to last?

The soul turns loose

The mind holds fast

To things that never last. 

Have you ever been homesick

To see a face, to hear a voice 

Things of the past 

That never last.

Have you ever been homesick

For a place in time

For that moment past

That you thought would last

For that moment held dear

For that voice, that face

For a day in time

Which would be the last .

Understanding

We think we want to be understood, however do we really want others to understand us? If they truly understood us then surely they can enslave us with this knowing, this understanding. Is it then understanding we want or is it someone to sit in silence with us not knowing, only being with us in our solitude?