Dreams
                  are  only  dreams
                        until you
                        wake up
                  and make  them  
                             real.

                 You are the Author
                     of  your  story.
                           If your
                stuck on  the  same  
                              page,
                   remember  that  at  
                       any  moment,
                         you have
                the  power to write a
                        new chapter.

                       You will never
                  always be motivated.
                            You have
                     to be disciplined.
                          The future
                   depends  on  what
                         you do today.

                      Love what you do,
                             so one day
                        you can do what
                              you love.
                                                                                          Jon York   2019

All the blue of day slipped quietly away
the glass of the lake with little winds
waved the sun to sleep, rippling in steely colors
drowsy with glints of gold.
The pines soon went black as birds
and in the darkness disappeared.
At the closing of day
a lone call faintly heard,
a sadness, the weeping of a bird.

Today
it was felt
in heart
it came sharp
a knife
a hammer
deep the ache
the numb
that tries to escape
the resurrection of the fire.

I am green in these hills
I wait all spring long
wait through grey rains
too early for summer flowers
I dream of sun fields brightest yellow
my heart a wild field that burns
my lips are paper seeking water
desolate in this desert
your lips now merely
a mirage.

In the rain forest we heard the first birds
stood amid the cooling spectral fog
walked upon the spongy ground
the layered earth of moss and mud
along the path and further on
came streaming rays of sun
that silver lit the wild paphiopedilums
smiling toward the sky
a shine of silken stars.

Poets born and die
with every stroke of the pen-
so live fast, write young

12:13 AM
18/6/19

Truth is not a thought of the mind nor a scene through the eyes but the depths to which one feels love radiating from their soulful heart