Day 78: Time of Day

I sometime admire the idea of knowing where to draw the line between times of the day, at what does the afternoon turn into an evening and the evening into night. At what time lines does the day know that we must change our moods and do we really change based on that anyways. Are we programmed to be more mellow over the evening and grumpier over the morning? Are we designed to love the morning air sometimes, and yet hate to get up without the coffee? This fascination about the time of day amuses me sometimes as I see different sides of people at different times. In the randomness of it all, I find warm hearts at all odd hours and more of life I listen to the more I want to hear.

Time of day
It was the beginning somewhere, somewhere along the start of it all,
When the tea is brewing quietly and the whole world for once has been put on hold.
When the weary eyes, holds me back the morning dream reminds me of things,
Of the reason I get out of bed, when the day ahead still lies in my dreams

The time of days that shuffles around, plays games of card that only a few know,
They are hidden in plane sight, they are undisclosed they are cards which they do not show
I am reminded of transition often times, of winnings we take home and our losses too,
Why we live with expectations still, why there's something something exciting to see things through.

We will find a reason to painfully sublime, we will all wrap ourselves in phases of the day,
From time to time when we are most of ourselves and yet we seem to move away
The admiration of the few must come and go, like hours we count into the night or evening still,
I find myself like the half empty wine bottle waiting for a drink, for a glass to be filled

Pour me a day, it has sweetened & aged, it is time we taste what is unknown,
I have too little to be gained, to much to loose and yet I would rather have the story unfold
Paint me a picture with lines that don't connect, write me a story with faint meaning someway,
Why we count our many hours, why we write to transitions and our times of the day. 

Day 77: Window Side

What would you like to do? She asked from the other side of the table.
I don't know , maybe just find the cafe I first went to, sit by the window and stare outside. Maybe just roam around in the hallways the same way as I used to , maybe learn how to dance for a change when no one is looking. She smiled back, I would just like to be able to do simple things again, find my way back home when I want to and reason with no one but myself.
           "We can all see, that which surrounds us, we feel that which changes us and we are sometimes lost in the familiar more than anything else"

Window Side
I will sit by the same place, the same seat the same cafe,
Where the smell of coffee fills the room, but it would still be okay
Where I could borrow a napkin and write to no one,
But yet smile every time, I would think out loud & when my writing is done.

I will still sit by the window side, the colors of the day change from time to time,
The hours pass like music that plays in a watch, the minutes they play at a constant rhyme
I write letters back and emails too, I think of the ways in which I talk back,
But my saved seat by my window side, gives me endless things to write along.

I trade stories with you, the ones you decide to tell, the ones I get to write,
The ones we both listen to, we follow along, the ones we feel as we laugh and sometimes cry
I sometimes feel the whole world wants a peaceful, a dream shared between between me and you,
And though we may not remember what they have been, at least some of us would wish it true

I will still sit by the same window pane, I will scribble without notice somehow,
I will learn how to dance, how to sing, how to play, even if only in my mind for now.
I find quiet writings that ties me down, sometimes more close to reality,
And in wherever you may think my words may fit, for now they are the best of me.

Day 76: Shadows in the Sun

It was a cold winter morning mid January, it was a little heavier to breathe as I walked from my home . There are moments in the walk where I feel; having done this over and over again has let my brain think of other random things. I don't need to worry about the walk itself. The music track changed in my ears to a slow and subtle piano piece called "one morning". I walked past the parking lot, the restaurants in the way and the familiar places that I don't visit anymore. I have fewer reasons to do so in the first place. I have dressed up just the same, been ready for things in just the same ways and yet the day was a different one.  I looked at the shadows in between places where the day wasn't bright enough and neither warm.

Shadows in the Sun
Can you tell me if I write to fiction or reality tonight?
Can you separate the two, the fear, the anxious me, the part of me that chooses to fight?
Can you remind me of every time you felt the characters were so alive,
That you stopped and figured what if they made it though, was the story as much yours as mine?

Who can tell me that we are living in reality or simply a larger story in part?
We are playing improv, our lines were unwritten , we were told to just choose a place to start
The shadows in the sun outside, are places where you will sometimes find,
Those who have learned to write their stories somewhere, and yet refuse to draw within the lines

I am an actor in my own play, my lines , my writings are sometimes real to me,
And for whatever part that we must play, what I write to you is just a part that wants to be free.
Oh meaning in between the lines, Oh words that frame themselves from time to time,
You are often read back again & again, like memories that I hold & some that are on constant rewind.

The stories of the night, feel so real to me , I refuse to separate my thoughts for a while,
I am the hero in my head, the villain too, and all the roles wherever I get to play a part.
Can you find the real me, as I look for you, do you think we have changed over and over again,
We have become like words, like poetry, just a character we live and sometimes play.