Mom

words will never capture
all that you are,
all you have been
and will continue to be,
still the pen scratches its way
across the page
in hopes
the fleeting muse
will infuse it with magic,
filling these words
with the deeper meaning
we've never found the way
to convey;

you'd tell us not to worry,
that you know;
it isn't enough
that you know,
there should be
a much grander display
to celebrate you -
every day -
to tell you
how much we love you
for all you have given,
for helping to mold us,
for loving us -
imperfections and all -
unconditionally;

these words will never do
still here they are -
much too simple -
thank you
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Idle Minds

the idle mind
eats away at itself,
it begs for challenges
to chew upon -

it wants work,
it needs a puzzle,
anything to solve -

we destroy ourselves
with blank stares
into empty screens,

what do we retain,
an empty void
of lost time;

is life not 
so precious a gift
that we might endeavor
to treat it with more care
before it is too late,

when all that is left to us
is to lament time's 
empty passing
and the erosion
of our minds
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