Our journey is wasted
when we hanker for things
that might have been .
With open eyes, the

My morning meditation—a musing of how and why in an unspoken soliloquy:

Why do Saturdays now hold

She sits upon my shoulder, goads me to action,
I know I missed the boat called perfection,

but

At a young age, I cursed at the sky when I stubbed my toe

I would beg for forgiveness, or offer

Being the library curator / of my own life
I’ve archived several tomes / of family strife,
The