That empty cup
is gathering dust
I have no
heart to wash
where once it
was joy and
laughter filled it
now sits quietly
surrounded by others
a shrinking violet
it grows smaller
with each morning
and one day
be a thimble
capable of holding
no more than
a moment’s memory
Category: Creativity
Bus
At a bus
stop I sat
waiting no not
for the bus
but for you
for this was
the very place
where I first
laid eyes upon
for hours I
sat there and
those turning into
days and those
then into accepting
that it was
never about a
bus but being
there where you
would be when
May
I only dream
of has beens
and what might’ves
but I never
dream about the
maybe so’s and
what if one
day if only’s
so dreams aren’t
really ever dreams
but only hauntings
of what happiness
used to be
and never about
what it may
ChugaChuga
Maybe I missed
be it arrow
or maybe call
to find out
that it’s over
before it began
I thought we
engine and caboose
chugging right along
around the bend
into the valley
high above sea
until looking back
I noticed that
you were no
longer behind me
Day
This gray cold
never gets old
through the fog
I can log
my very steps
as I schlep
like some villain
fog or cloud
this mountain shroud
it even obscures
the soupy cure
of days bright
now dimmed sunlight
I mountain man
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 