Tag: life

One-Way

Perhaps it’s time that I talk about something long buried, that I’ve hidden from the world in the hope that over time, it would vanish.

That I am afraid. Our lives have defining moments where we are left with two options; do we climb or do we fall?

Each decision a branch on our tree, creating endless ripples of what could of been and what will never be.

 I move forward and at the same time I stay exactly where I was, unmoving. I watch as the branch next to me crumbles and cling to my branch for dear life.

The wind begins to pick up and I pray that the branch chosen is strong enough to withstand any storm and should it begin to crack, I find the courage to keep climbing. That I will one day touch the sunlit canopy, and look back to see the branches I chose still standing strong; reaching their hands to catch me should I fall. And should I have stood upon a branch filled with rot, to have the knowledge to nourish the branch till leaves begin to sprout and the strength to severe the limb should the rot spread. 

Should I reach the top, I hope to see the forest and look far beyond the canopy of green that lays before me. To look at the thick roots down below; an intricate network of connections that keeps the forest alive. For if one tree suffers, the whole forest begins to die. And it is true that the strong nourish the weak but it is also true that the weak nourish the strong. And should the forest burn, from the ashes life begins anew.

Content from the Grave

When I found this draft, all it had was the title and the first line. So I expanded. This post was always meant to be a reflection of life and I wanted the words to be up to the reader to interpret. What is the forest? What do the branches represent? Is this referring to the individual or the group? Both?

$1.00

Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! Thoughts? Comments? Sound off below and I’ll do my best to respond.

Time falls as raindrops: A short poem by Mike Cole

Time falls, all around us.

Each moment, a splash.

When life knocks, time answers.

A constant monsoon; sweeping, churning.

Breathing. sighing. And crying.

When time falls, it falls as raindrops;

A soothing melody to lull you to sleep;

Or a constant storm, left sorrow to reap.

When we reach out our hand, we feel the rain.

Every memory, as real as the day before.

Those moments, unchanging or born anew.

In the end, it not so much matters,

For time is all around us and nothing is ever truly lost.

Thanks for reading! It’s great to be back in the swing of things. I’ve really enjoyed writing poetry for the last 6 months and am happy to see my skills moderately improving. I have big plans for the year and am hoping to finish the year strong with plenty of content heading into November and December for the blog. It’s been tough adjusting to work and while I might feel exhausted, I haven’t been willing to sacrifice quality for quantity.

Cheers,

– Mike

Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

$1.00

 

 

Winter

In the Winter, he carried his torch and hoped for Spring.

He waited yet the birds never did sing.

So Summer came and went,

and with Autumn brought rain.

And once again he found himself greeting Winter.

The cold air, brisk and to the point.

The trees, dead in appearance yet very much alive.

And then Spring came and he let it pass.

He waited for the cold he knew too well.

Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

$1.00

Distant Dreams, I know not where: A short poem by Mike Cole

Distant dreams, I know not where

Shadows crept, turning meadows grey

Day faded and night came.

 

He walked, searching, calling and echoes cried back

The darkness hungered and enjoyed the snack.

 

Fragmented memories, stitched together.

A tapestry, constantly unwoven and rewoven,

yet never complete

 

He closed his eyes and remembered.

The sun beat on his face and warmth filled the air.

Whatever darkness, he dared not care.

 

And so he stitched his tapestry with gold,

remembering his tale was yet to be told.

Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

$1.00