Meaning

time comes with a lid
no handles to hold
the night was a thief
dark thumbs to wear
kept dreams to count
love without doors
leaves but feathers
till days break aloud
to let in theives
for their tall times

you are the wall
you are the mother
you are the duck
you are the music
you are the night
you are the sound
you are the silence

Fences

fences, they went up in smoke
perforating my glowing doubts
the fence I sweated to defuse
had but barbs of the wired mind

#71 POETRY =

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Poetry =

Caleidoscopic

be it sunshine or rain
of cheer or grimace
be it mountain or grain
by nature coarse or of grace

The Sunrise Notes

the divide
between me and the world
is the one
between me and myself