Confessions of a Heart Writer

I haven’t given up – I’m just moving slow and that’s okay.

Most nights, I’m dreaming  that the earth as caved in- and somehow I survive.

Then the music stops playing somewhere – If I could believe,

Yes I believe, my life’s not done.

My words are prayers to the lips of the sky.

My tears wash my pain back into alleyways – side by side

Street sweepers, old folks and dreamers like me.