I was going through some boxes and thought I would share a bit of what I found with you. Way back when dinosaurs existed and before we had iPhones and iPads with built in notepads I would use anything from a ripped up napkin to a matchbook to record my thoughts. Here's a little gem I came across.

Reality is somehow not the same

As we hear the same sound

and breathe the same air

We see the same sky

She needs to feed them

She carries the burden

just wait a minute babe

He says it's her fault

she believed him

music playing softly

as background to laughter

a toast to newlyweds

the doctor sits them down

there is always hope

whose reality is real?

an artist with no easel

a poet with no words

A lover with no life

A life without love

so close to the edge

dancing on the pathway

hoping for rain

waiting for a sign

reality comes together

often for tragedy

precious life, so fragile

not to be taken for granted