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January 8, 2021


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