Poetry

Creativity.

It is good for the soul.

Joy is found in the little things.

Details only matter

if you choose to let them.

Perfection is not everything.

The finished work

is always beautiful.

If I could write a book

it would mean I believed in myself.

If I could write a nook

it would show those who had no faith in me.

If I could write a book

it would mean I did what I dreamed of.

If I could write a book

I would be happy.

If I could write a book

and people liked it

is something I still dream of.

Only a series of hours.

Sleep.

Tossing and turning.

Missing them.

Wishing I could have brought them with me.

Happy to be home.

Cuddles amid the purrs.

Glad to hear their meows.

Reality crashes through

the expectations

or more realistically

the estimated results desired.

Time flies by quicker

and you are forced to realize

what you hoped for

is probably just

an overly optimistic wish.

Whether they use words or fists,

Hisses or claws,

It simply breaks a mother’s heart

each time it happens.

Helplessness is never a great feeling.

Yet sometimes all you can do is show you love them.

No matter who instigated the fight.

Signs will show.

Things change.

Behaviours once common

now become distinct in their absence.

Everybody’s welfare must be met.

Including the pets.

They are family after all.

Holiday is coming up.

Chocolate is preferred.

Some may like the eggs.

Or the bunnies of marshmallow.

Just don’t prank the kids on the morning thereof.

To add something

you need to know

what to add.

Plus it helps

if you know

what you are adding to.

Otherwise

you might get some

unexpected results.

Dungeons to explore.

Dragons to fight.

Or steal from.

Friends to adventure with.

Trouble to find.

Or help for the poor villagers.

Games to bring us all together.

Red crested,

Yellow breasted,

Bandied legged,

Booby bird.

Abbot’s calling.