Maybe

john fobes

maybe the wise yearn to be foolish
just for a moment when no one would know
maybe the brave sometimes dream about hiding
maybe the dead still linger near the living
for just one more last word, last glance
maybe the bad long to be good
maybe the tune deaf hum under their breath
maybe the spoiled can remember freshness
and how it feels being crackling new
maybe the lost really know where the path is
but lose it for a while to have a reason for celebration
maybe the book loves its own story and wonders if this time,
the ending may change
maybe young children remember a heartbeat
maybe the dark is looking for stars

*artwork by john fobes*

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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