Sharing Memories

The world awaits me, waiting for me to notice
The small ripples in the creek, the tallness of
A mountain or when a couple embraces love.
The world’s beauty is captured through a lotus

Flower that opens its petals for the first time in
Spring and blooms in summer. The steady click
Of a camera; the mental memory. Never be sick
Of the mundane things like raindrops or dry skin

While standing in the middle of a desert because
Being a poet means sharing those moments, big
And small like a heartbreak breaking me like twig,
My heart in half as I clean up the mess. The cause

For concern as I try to navigate through the rough
Terrains of the road ahead and the shadows that try
To entice me. I become observant of tears people cry
As they pretend to be okay and continue to be tough

For the rest of the world on standby. But no one sees
Me watching and observing from the hidden corner
Like a faithful bird watcher. A sorrowful mourner
Who lost love, but it remains in new grown trees,

Roots and flowers. A poet and writer with my pen
Who only wants to write the truth, even if it means
I bring sorrow to an empty table. The truth redeems
 Matters of the heart. Everything is released again.