Two Benches

Two benches sat on a hill.
Neither bench knew of the other.

The fog crept up.
The sun went down.

The ravens crowed.
The horse neighed.

Still, those two benches sat.

Will those benches ever know the other?

That, no one knows.

The fog goes down.
The sun floats up.

The ravens crow.
The horse neighs.

And there those two benches sit.

twenty-three

Being twenty-three is not knowing who,
or what you want to be.
Being twenty-three is about working,
but instead wanting to climb a tree.

Being twenty-three can be lonely,
when nobody else knows.

Hey,
being twenty-three sounds a lot like being an adolescent.

And everybody knows,
the adolescent grows.

welcome

a page of creative writings and odd experiences.

a place to grow seeds into ideas.

a writer's notebook.

welcome to my world.