Monday is another day
But so is Tuesday and Wednesday
How about Thursday
Then again, there’s always Friday
The weekend is here
Maybe it’s supposed to be at week’s end, Saturday
or at the beginning on a Sunday
back to Monday
mid-week Wednesday
the day of the week, not even the hour, matters
Because nobody is promised the next day
Nobody is promised next few seconds
Every Day is another Day
To Begin Again
With the morning dew
I rise
thankful for each breath, each sight, each scent
The fact that I can move my limbs
enunciate thankful musical hymns
Simple things my younger self depreciated
Simple things my older self appreciates
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Krakatoa Forever My Friend
"kindness is healing, writer & poet of sorts, "
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All is not quiet in the countryside
Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord
Brian Marggraf, Author of Dream Brother: A Novel, Independent publishing advocate, New York City dweller
"And if one day you see the stars disappearing, know only that my heart was amongst them." - My original poem.
what if poems could be symphonies, and people their orchestra?
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