Speaking of Truth

Truth always speaks to choices made
Whispers of that inner voice weighed
Ghosts play in the morning light
collecting years just out of sight
Oh, the price we paid, price we paid

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The Crossing

While hiking on a lonely trail,
My goal: another mount to scale,
And feeling rather wearisome,

Perhaps it Was

Perhaps it was a mourning dove,
or other bird I’m thinking of,
fluttering as it took to wing
to rest atop the tree and sing
the lamenting coo of its lost love.