Trevor Wells Poems

Spring is the season when things begin to bloom,
Like a child straight from the mother's womb.
It is a time when things begin to grow
And thunderstorms begin to blow.
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Death can come in many shapes and sizes.
It can come slowly or rather abruptly,
Gracefully or painfully.
Death is like a game of Russian roulette.
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The sounds of construction are heard all around
As a carpenter pounds a nail or saws a board.
He stretches his tape measure from end to end,
In hope that the board will have just the right fit.
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Their is no better feeling than being free,
Just oneself and the open road ahead.
No one can hold you back
And their are no limitations,
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Over the years, we begin to grow old.
With age we begin to appreciate things more and more.
We also reflect back on our lives,
And see if we have done everything we wanted to do.
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We look at ourselves in the mirror everyday,
And we see the person we really are.
Most of the time it's the imperfections
That we seem to notice most.
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Life in this world is easy come easy go.
It only takes seconds to have it turned upside down.
Life is like a massive balance scale,
One small thing can change the balance in a heartbeat.
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It's a cold and bitter morning in late December.
My breath shows up like fog in early April.
I ascend my treestand many feet above the ground.
It is like a sanctuary, a place to get away from the world.
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Which is right, left or right?
The difference could be day and night.
To the left a future with no hope and sorrow,
And no telling what's tomorrow.
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