It's those moments waiting when there's nothing to do that I thinkSomehow I've got it all wrongI start questioning my beliefs, my life, my choices, my existenceBut that never gets me anywhereIt's those times when all is right and life becomes mundaneThat I have time to talk with GodWith this pile of stuff around me, the wants, the needs, the wasteIt's easy to forget to listen for His voice whisperingAre you listeningTo what this could beAnd all that isAre you sure This is what you wantNo I'm not sureOf anything anymoreWriting poetry brings me back to the intricate simplicity of life. Being creative reminds me of all the things I miss:
Walking in the woods, without worry, leaving behind cares and just
being.
Floating on my back in the ocean for hours, just listening to the waves, and imagining that I live beneath the depths where the world can't find me.
Singing familiar songs around a campfire, being friends and making friends.
Writing brings those things from the past into the present, and reminds me that all those things are also in my future.