Public Posts Seattle, WA Seattle, WA (zoom)

All the pain,
in this late life,
moving toward an ending
uniting us as man and wife.

Shadows, in the dust,
on the wooden floor,
of the vacant house,
next door.

He lived here once,
I heard someone say.
He lives here, no longer,
for he's gone away.

Will he ever return?
People have asked why?
I shrugged my shoulders,
letting out a sigh.

Let's have a game.
Here's what to do.
Write down a word,
I'll write one too.

I write my first word,
you can reply soon.
Words of a planet or
a word for the moon.

Be careful, make a choice,
picking the word, you choose.
There won't be a winner
and no one will lose.

Ready to play?
Then here goes.
What is beautiful,
but not called a Rose?

Remember to write,
just one word, at the end.
Use your imagination,
let's just pretend.
Turtle.

Tell me a story,
about when you were a boy.
An adventured you lived,
once with a friend.

Graduated, from the eighth grade,
myself and my friend.
Wanted to earn some money.
We hitchhiked from Seattle,

North to Lynden to pick strawberries.
We arrived and heard the news,
the berry season was over or done.
Reverse our journey, sleeping in a
field, outside of Bellingham, and
returned to Seattle.
Thumbs out, we needed a ride.

Don't be careless,
begin at the start.
Make sure the horse,
is in front of the cart.

a broken branch
covered in clay
in pieces.

This life I've led,
full of daydreams
and half-truths,
has passed by.

What happens tomorrow,
or whenever the day,
if I want to hold you
and you push me away.

I remember you always,
every day of my life.
Remembering you forever,
my, most beautiful wife.

Let's meet here tomorrow,
taking one more chance,
for a new beginning,
and taste for romance.

I'm thinking of you now,
as I lay on the sheets,
of how I miss you,
tears course down my cheeks.

My emotions are ragged,
my actions, my senses,
of not being with you.
It is not my pretense.

My sleep, is quite fitful,
not sleeping at night.
My anger upsets me,
but there's nothing to fight.

Here I am,
lonely, to be,
on the precipice,
next to insanity.

My soul's screaming,
let me out of this
isolation. Little
human interaction,
except when the
meals are delivered.

What is there about love,
making me feel this way?
Love exists for all,
everyone is in play.

Worry not about tomorrow
or the choice we bring,
for love will persist
in songs we will sing.

Love is there for many things
it can be very forgiving,
but only for those in life
who keep on living.

Love matters not to another,
what they love is working,
perhaps, it means little,
or it may mean a ring.