What a gift you are
The crumbs you leave along the way
Allowing me to find myself
I see more each day
Holding a pace
For further exploration
Allowing me the space
For my own instigation
How joyous I am
To be awake enough to see this
Appreciating the stillness
The gratitude, the willingness
What a journey to be on
When the passage is wide open
Like dogs having fun
Or hearts on an ocean
Category: Observation
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Gazing at the ripples their minds start to ponder
Tracing the current their fingers begin to wander
Towards each other from a few centimetres away
The first touch electric for a moment they stay
Feeling the wave flow up their arms
Roll up their neck and back down to their palms
Fingertips interlocking bringing it in
Breathing getting deeper the tides coming in
Knuckles side by side they look to the sky
Not dare to turn look the other in the eye
Clasping getting closer hands off the floor
Palms now touching fingers wrapped even more
Somehow a tightness has begun to be formed
These hands are solid they can withstand a storm
They sit for a while quiet and still
Emotion overflowing the silence at will
The bellowing hurricane feelings invoke
Soothed by the water medicated by the folk
At last a head turns to see
But the hand is swiftly retrieved
Both turn back to the water
In their own space, no further
As they watch the ripples glide the surface -
The painter sat watching the world go by
He watched the people and gazed at the sky
So relaxed he observed the busy little street
The children running with their little feet
The dogs pooing in the middle of the road
Embarrassed owners red faced and shroud
He sat and sat for days on end
He never painted
Not a penny did he spend
He brought his own coffee
And perched on the bench
Next to the cafe of a horrible wench
She threw her cigarettes into the street
Which were swept up by the dragging feet
The weather would change
But his routine would not
In the blistering storm
In an anarak he’d stop
Wipe the seat down and take a pew
Observe in slow motion, kind yet subdewed