Oak Park Library is currently closed and will re-open on Monday, Dec. 18 at 9 a.m.
While walking in the art store today.
I overheard a color pencil box
With many things to say
“I don’t like the Red,” said the Orange
and Green said, “Nor do I”
and no one likes Yellow
But no one knows just why
Come with me into these memories
Where grown-ups are not allowed
Across the deep concrete river
Where in giant hollow owl’s eyes
You can hear the hidden bears’ growls.
Beneath high branches curved like arches
Their leaves intertwined
Sometimes, when the soft spring rain
slowly soaks the earth,
And lightly fingers everything,
Giving it a coat of droplets,
The color of everything begins to fade...
It darkens out the colors
And smooths out texture.
It creates a soft scene,
Life to all, the empty promise
I’ve found something new
Take your script and watch it slip through
Cracks so obvious
And we still fight in vain
Who’s the one that wins?
No one’s truly saved
No room left to swim
Life to all, the empty promise
Left only is the echo of the water’s laugh
The birds’ little whispers still can be heard.
The moon isn’t full, it’s only half
Sun’s clear rays have been made fuzzy and blurred.
Melody misses Harmony-her friend
Nightime longs to hear the old barn owl’s hoo.
Winter seems like an endless calm.
When the cold surrounds us,
and the darkness makes the streets disappear,
the world’s turning seems to slow down.
You can see footprints start and footprints
stop,
leading somewhere,
going nowhere.