the clouds gathered like mourners at a funeral
dressed in black and dark gray
the old give way to the young who in turn shall also grow old and give way
the moon goes through phases just as we do, it is natural
light becomes dark and then dark becomes light
the bad news is that nothing lasts forever
the good news is that nothing lasts forever
things generally outlast people
an ancient Indian proverb states that in a tree you can’t climb
there are always a thousand fruits…
- or so it seems anyway
good enough isn’t good enough unless it’s good enough
new year’s eve is fools gold - the next year will be better
oh my god you oughta know better
I paint, write poetry, watch the rain falling
drink myself into unconsciousness
I don’t know what art is, but then again, I don’t think anyone else does either
in a way, maybe everything is art in one form or another
wander with no destination, wherever the wind takes me
let the others compete with each other I don’t care
it’s a fact of life but still sad to me
that so few in the world seem to find tranquility
a raindrop falling from a cloud begins fresh journeys
nothing ever ends that once was
don’t think that you have to climb every mountain
you don’t need to know the answer to every question
don’t draw any conclusions in permanent marker
the stars look down on us - I wonder what they think
the wind cries, whispers, laughs, mourns and sometimes it abandons us
the answers aren’t always blowing in the wind
