For the readers I write

For the readers I write

The things I write of and bring to your sight, 

of the darkness in the day instead of the night, 

of a tree crying for its drowning self and the sky, 

while sitting under it watching the clouds cry. 

Torpedoes killing many souls, being inquired, 

soldiers damaged from action; thoughts rewired. 

Battles being fought in a puddles’ growing view, 

writing about dreams a drop of water pursues. 

Instinctively I am drawn to the memory of my you, 

every time I sit and put the words to your view. 

The visions I see with open and closed eyes, 

writing the feelings emanating from our skies. 

You all are an inspiration to say the least, 

the thoughts to words for your eyes to feast. 

Distantly aware of times ledge, 

I write for you sitting on its edge. 

When the view is darkened to me, 

it is still something I want all you to see. 

A valley flooded is where I sit waiting for my you, 

the darkness hiding memories from my view. 

The ridge is weathered, the one I walk, 

in the valley is where I wait to talk. 

This is just one place I come to view, 

to be inspired by my you. 

The beaches, the mountains, and the lakes, 

writing of how the earth often quakes. 

Stories forgotten, hidden, left with you, 

writing every side of a moments view. 

The bees, the birds, the fish, 

questions, answers, and a wish. 

Writing of adventurous breaths, 

and of suicidal deaths. 

Silently distantly thinking aloud, 

stories of the shapes of dark clouds. 

Like a shepherd and its shining star, 

an inspiration you all always are. 

I write everything for your thought, 

to give the stimulation you often sought. 

“Tell me a story” my you use to say. 

The readers are the reason I write today.