Whim

Close enough to magic,

might as well just be,

known in any state of play

or mind that is carefree.

less a thought than feeling

to know the better way,

best rely on your intuition

than another heart’s trite sway.

Acceleration (a poem)

When did the velocity increase fast?

caught by the swift ebb of life,

when did I forget to be,

living each moment in strife?

the present is swift and halts to none

eye dulled by fain proclivity.

eyes can be bright by the solemn glow

of the silent flame of austerity.