Thursday, December 04, 2025

More to Life



Sometimes 

we look over our lives 

and wonder 

if there isn’t more 


We often see our days as ordinary 

mundane and bogged down 

in the morass of routine 


We catch ourselves 

staring toward the horizon 

and wondering

Yes 

there are seasons  

when we stand 

on the brink 

of magnificent change 


when the world 

feels ready to burst open 


when the dam 

is straining at its seams  


when we are moments away  

from being swept 

into a grand new tomorrow 


Still 

we peer into the future 

and wonder if there is more

We must not lose sight of today 

in our search for tomorrow 


In our relentless pursuit 

of the brighter horizon 

we dance with the danger 

of losing sight 

of the treasures 

folded into this moment  


Embrace the hush 

of beauty in small things 

Hold on to the wonder 

woven through daily life 


Cherish the laughter 

that clings to kitchen walls 

Honor the rebellion  

in wildflowers pushing 

through cracked concrete 

Inhale the scent 

of rain rising 

from thirsty earth 


Receive the kindness

of random strangers

Bask in the love

of family  

of friends 


Look for more 

but understand that 

sometimes 

more 

is simply more 

of the beauty of today

Hold fast 

to the trueness of love 


© Ron Simpson Jr.

December 4, 2025


Words


Words

rise from my heart 

drift from my head 

I catch them in my hands 

and spread them out 

across the waiting page 


Sometimes 

they fall like spring rain 

warm and gentle 

a welcomed drink 

to soil hardened 

by winter 

and in the softened earth 

I glimpse the promise of seed 


Other times 

they come in a torrent 

tearing through me 

washing away the remnants 

of old seasons 

leaving me soaked 

and shivering 

stones uncovered 

weight I cannot carry alone 


There are days 

they fall like autumn leaves 

littering the landscape 

gathered in piles 

or scattered by wind 

the remnants 

of ideology and opinion 

some brittle, some fertile 

waiting to be sifted 


And then 

they drift like snowflakes 

wandering here and there 

until they cover everything 

creating both beauty 

and hazard 

a blanket hiding 

all that lies beneath 


And when the storm subsides  

I find the ground littered with fragments  

Some seeds, some stones  

bound in the hush of the fall 

Each waiting to be carried forward  

by hands not my own 

into seasons I will not see 


Words 


© Ron Simpson Jr. 

December 3, 2025 


Seen


Anonymity cuts deeply 

See me 

Hear me 

Feel me 


I walk through the fire 

The flames licking up my existence 

The residue of ash blowing in the wind 

No one knows my pain 


I walk through the struggle 

Muscles betraying me 

Bones speaking in fractures 

No one hears my cries 


I walk through the darkness 

My mind rebels against me 

My spirit is nailed to the ground 

No one sees me 


I reach out for light 

Life gives me shadows 

I reach out for warmth 

Even my flames are cold 


I listen for a word 

To lift me up 

To steady my walk 

The echoes scream their silence 


Still, I rise 

Unseen 

Unheard 

Untouched 


I am a shadow 

Carrying fire in my chest 


Ashes cling to me like memories 

Silence becomes my song 


I am the echo 

That refuses to die 


I am the flame 

That burns without witness 


I am the cry 

That splits the darkness 


I am seen 


© Ron Simpson Jr. 

December 1, 2025