Simple Work
• 05/12/24 at 08:21PM •Writing words,
do not have to be hard.
Simple placement, is like
playing in your back yard.
Writing words,
do not have to be hard.
Simple placement, is like
playing in your back yard.
Docile being
goes unseeing,
bending in the wind.
Swaying, gently,
unrelenting,
standing free,
once again.
When the Angel of Death,
flies out to the Sea,
is she looking for someone?
Is she looking for thee?
Live life to the fullest,
live as long as you can,
for when life is over,
you will then understand.
My love for another,
exactly like you,
is appealing, in the mind
but what do I do?
Fly to the river.
Fly to the Moon.
You'll look forever,
we'll see each other, soon.
Strange words,
at a strange time
in this strange life,
of my strange mind.
While travelling on distant paths,
I met a man like me,
who was searching for a
brand new world
and trying to be free.
This man was old and couldn't see,
what laid beyond the bend
and he asked me, very graciously,
if I would be his friend.
As we wandered down the path
of life's rough and rocky shore,
I didn't like his manner
and found him quite the bore,
at least he was to me.
He loves or hates most people
but mostly he doesn't trust
because he's insecure.
He criticizes quite freely
and never lets you be.
I knew I didn't like him
when I found out he was me.
I have slept with
women, in another life led.
There is no fear of intimacy,
withing this elderly head.
So please tell me,
what fear should there be,
when all whom I meet,
I compare them to thee.
It's not fair,
I know it now,
but this is a new game
to play and I know not how.
When love whispered your name,
Twas early spring, many years ago.
I had been doing research,
on who I could possibly know.
And there you were,
stepping in to my life,
when we fell in love,
becoming man and wife.
Are birds, good luck,
or must we pretend,
until our lives,
come to an end?
If I talk about a pigeon,
but don't mention a dove,
is that sacrilegious,
if I don't talk about Love?
Owls are wise,
in many ways,
While eagles rise
to the top of the haze.
Craziness lives,
in what I read,
as words I should know,
are stuck in my head.
Grieving's now easy,
what memories were,
I miss my love,
in this my silent lair.
Why do you do that,
I ask every day.
So many thoughts,
won't stay away.
After the rain has fallen,
on grass, roof and leaves,
the time will come to pass,
when memories freeze.
Memories, fade quickly,
at this time, when we relive,
as our attention falters,
during the time we grieve.
I caught a glimpse of you,
last night, as I sat in my chair.
I turned, said hello, but you weren't there.
I feel you around me,
when I'm in my room.
Is it all in my head
or will you be here soon?
Stream fishing, has always been
my joy, in life, at least when a boy.
This brings back memories of the past.
I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
The water swirls and gushes
Over rock and stone.
I stand on the bank
But I'm not alone.
There are trees of Pine
And some Bramble bush,
While the water moves
Quickly, with melodic rush.
I stand there, fly rod in hand
Making cast after cast,
Seeing where the fly will land
In the right spot,
The back of the eddy.
With fingers touching the line,
I await and am ready,
For the tap, from a fish,
That wants this fine morsel.
If it bites, I'll have my wish
And soon be on my way,
With a most delectable fish.
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