The pen

Being mightier than the crayon

Draws worlds from minds

Spans paths with synapses

A bridge not far enough

For pencils


Sometimes we encompass

The whole universe

My depression and me

Holding hands

Grafted together are we




Plantings upside down

Turn over a new leaf they’d said

She always was dramatic


If Wordsworth walked

In Australian heat

The temptation of the lake

Would usurp the joy of daffodils

Bobbing and swaying

In the breeze


Who watches the watchers

As I change into my night time clothes

Surely the afterlife

Cannot be filled

With voyeurs



Copyright January 2015


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