Remains Untitled

Landscapes never painted

But yet they exist—of course—in real life—and—in my mind

A still life—is still a life—just not wanting to go by any faster

Of these things I am an old master

Stories written in my head that haven’t made it to paper

I’m the only one that has read them

Of course—there are my poems that litter bleached pieces of trees

I think the trees are more poetic

We should have let them be

Just let them be—a tree

Things that I have built—only to later be dismembered

No longer remembered

Time spent working on things that are now rusted silent

Thoughts they have been shared and then lost

Gifts that have been given and then tossed

People that I’ve loved then have lost

Time that was spent

Before I knew what it all meant

JArtB