“There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.”
Howard Thurman



Toes numb, empty on the outside.
Passing the hours by. 
Wondering if they will ever come.

Corrugated steel - an icebox for froth and delight
But the icy cold keeps everyone in tonight.  
So it is then to wait. To count the hours.
and wonder what the point of all this is. 

After hours only count as overtime
if there is someone to pay you to leave.
But tonight is just a deadlock - waiting.
Wondering if they will ever come.

Not what I hoped for.
Called it foresight, but for now
it just feels like cold and numb. 

Weary mind wondering
trapped by a frigid facade.  
Do it again tomorrow
Wondering if they will ever come.  


Well Being

To the Heart Land