Is this Winter?
This weighing down of hearts
Of souls almost lifeless
Awaiting what they fear to come?
Is this cold running through us
The cold of wet snow
Turning to mud under our feet?
Is this the howling wind?
Is this the ice
That grasps us
Until we cannot breathe…
these are the days of music
of light from every corner
when even our neighbor who scowls
changes his porch light for red
it glows on the snow
deepening on his sidewalk
where tiny dogs pass by
in sweaters against the cold
our old deaf dog
curled tightly in his bed
I learned about Medium several months ago and really enjoyed participating…for a little while. Unfortunately for me and, evidently, many other short-form writers, the way Medium evaluates and assigns earnings changed dramatically.
Now, my work most often goes unseen and apparently worthless. Soon, it will cost me more to be…
One of the visible spirits of Grace in my life,
You offer me always more love than I’ve ever deserved;
With critical eye and kind heart you regard what I do
And judge it all with generosity, always unswerved.
When I go walking the thin ice of hard public scrutiny,
Your hand’s there to steady…
When fear and weakness, fear’s true face, combine
To harden hearts and undermine our sense
Of unity, thus seeking just to find
A way to lock ourselves inside the fence
Of our own selfishness, our own conceit
That tells us we are not that which we fear,
That our beliefs are permanent, complete,
Must never change, adapt…
“Truth fails not,” a man once said
(Though honors soon went to his head).
As men grow older, truth grows hard,
Replaced by money and regard
Till, petrified with work long past,
Each falls to mumbling at the last,
While still believing that his voice
Is clear and strong. What is his choice…