I often sit here waiting,
on days when words won’t come
To chase the thoughts now fleeting,
their messages on the run
These days I sit impatient,
as I wonder to myself
Are time and memory draining,
—precious moments left unfelt
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
The Eyes Of A Child
Do you eat your own cooking,
do you live what you write
Do you enjoy your own company,
do you dream well at night
When you look in the mirror,
do you like what you see
Through the eyes of a child,
—is your heart then set free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)