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Off the rail.
Off the wall.
Down the stairway,
Into the hall.

Echos, strange,
they are,
when heard up close,
or from afar.

A lonesome wind,
so cold, so hard,
blowing across,
the Courtyard.

With the Sun
and no more rain,
we will plant,
flowers again.

Flowers, with
colors bright,
ready for the,
first sunlight.

What happens,
when you think
what you've written,
is wasted ink?

Part of our life is handling the loss
of a loved one. There are many ways
not unique to myself. I wrote this, 6 years
ago. Prophetic, perhaps but my feeling
at the moment.

Humor must be in a place,
when we write of our emotions.
If not, are we human?

The Sun set in the West,
as it was supposed to do.
Why are you here,
disputing that too?

You are a known liar,
no questioning you,
for the damage you've done,
harms all of us too.

May I tell you a story,
of a long time ago,
when myths were real,
and adventures were so,

fantastic to read,
let alone go,
to the end of the world,
for the big show.

An early time,
in the life of Man,
or all Humans,
you must understand.

A time of joy,
a time of strife,
when a husband,
searched for a new wife.

Not all woman,
are stronger than she,
but this lovely one,
was stronger than he.

Her strength, in numbers,
was the shape of her hand,
she caught all the tear drops,
which fell on this land.

(Continued)

A story so strong,
it would never fail,
for it was only once,
when you could hail.

Love of another,
more beautiful, than thee.
Love from the many,
who could make you flee.

Flee this world,
which we now see,
full of sadness,
and no civility.

Go from this place,
you poor excuse for a man.
Quit abusing your power,
which you don't understand.

The earth turned,
the butterfly flew.
What in the world,
did you just do?

You created a ripple,
in the Cosmic array,
causing discord to love,
on the very next day.

When stars collide,
creating a new fate,
you must move swiftly,
before it's too late.

Strike when the
iron is hot,
or just forget it,
for it's not.

Long the difference,
from my heart to you.
If I can't be there,
what will I do?

My hearts a flutter.
I saw her again.
She looks dangerous,
causing me pain.

It's funny,
in an odd way,
to realize,
she's gone away..

Never to see her,
in this life again.
How I hate
this kind of pain.

May I ask, of you,
just for today,
to please,
let the pain go away.

The processing of grieving,
will always remain,
different, from each other,
it matters not the twain.

We all have our,
method of saying goodbye.
It's important we do,
as we always must try.