Rain echoes
Hoarsened call
Of owl,
Stirring melancholy,
If she has finished moving
If she needs help.
I wish I could be there,
She should’ve lived
Closer,
Wish time could be
Stretchable for her.
Working mom’s struggle,
Like birthing throes.
Rain begins to
Pour down,
Churning distress at the shore
Of night.
With no text from her.
Gold lamplight in the rain twinkles,
Assuring,
‘She’s too busy to call, but
The working mom is doing
Wonderful!’

© Byung A. Fallgren

a firm belief
stemmed project
braving storms
blizzard days to see
this day of Brief splendor

© Byung A. Fallgren

Kindness, akin to love,
we adore it, yet we gossip:

he bathes in the swamp
of cynicism, eager to follow
the stream of somber euphemism.
He’d scorn, ranting in return,

but inside him is a wounded rabbit
limping across the pasture,
searching for love, would walk on
a gossamer to get an assurance
that he’ll shine. While we
would help a lost child,

strangers in need, and so forth
we tend to look away from the
emotionally missing souls,
hoping they’ll wake up,
embrace gentle flow.

© Byung A. Fallgren

like
a jealous lover
the winter
wouldn’t stop dumping snow
song of wordless May

© Byung A. Fallgren

When thoughts are
dried river,
emotion,
budding thorn,

fall back and soak
the tired wings
in the cool lake,

peep the world through
the latticework
of sanity, and
even the irritating
sarcasm’s
laughable,

find a quality
even in  the gnarled
deadwood.
Still I try.

© Byung A. Fallgren

pondering shadows
of the day
lamplight
imbue a wisdom
into the evening

© Byung A. Fallgren

We
try and reach
for the silver sky
sprinkles ice crystals
song of wordless spring

© Byung A. Fallgren.com

once dying hill
in the flame
blue lake
shudders at the memory
laughing budding leaves

© Byung A. Fallgren.com

Thorny words of yesterday
somber air today

brooding rain clouds
deep water between us

like crescent moon, once in a while,
we steal a glance of our corners

despite all, sometimes, we keep our doors ajar.

© Byung A. Fallgren