Author: Pontvert

Sitting beside him,
she looks at her mobile phone,
looking for some sign.

He notices a girl,
so pretty but shes alofe,
but watches his phone.

Scriibbled notes are smudged,
the ink has run, but its words,
stand strong and speak out.

The folder paper,
with a note in the corner,
can have increased worth.

Another coffee,
another thought, and a pause,
time to recover.

Resting is needful,
taking time out is helpful,
getting away’s best.

Finding more treasure,
in unexpected places,
and there all the time.

Seeking’s not finding,
and finding is not seeking;
but a mystery.

We have had to work,
to get to this place, and see,
that it’s not in vain.

Resting for a while,
look up to the sky and smile,
and let cares take flight.

Standing looking back,
seeing just how far we’ve come;
a good thing to check.

The grind of today,
relentless and exhausting,
clouds a larger goal.

The cup is empty,
the time has passed, and now gone;
time for another.

Ordering the steps,
setting clear, do-able goals,
and ticking them off.

Thinking of a plan,
a Stan the man, kind of plan,
and guess that will do.

It soon goes awry,
and up steps the nay sayers,
that think they know best.

It’s so far behind,
and effort flags, hopelessly,
with this thought of loss.

Helpers rally round,
with loud action and much sound,
though they are empty.

I will write your book,
and it shall speak of someone,
you didn’t intend.

The words, always true,
become twisted and abused;
caught in webs of lies.