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What happens,
when you think
what you've written,
is wasted ink?
I like to believe that once a thought is captured in writing, it is read, interpreted, admired, accepted, rejected or modified. As time passes, it may stand alone or it may combine with other thoughts. In either form it has the chance of becoming immortal.
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.
Oh, elusive love
Where are you now?
Where is your hiding place?
Can you be found
In the eyes of children
Or in the tinkling sound
Of their laughter
Or looking into crowded rooms,
Will I see you
In the face of a
Smiling stranger?
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.
Loves in the air,
but it isn't for me.
For there is little desire,
not there to see.
I love people, in general,
I know this to be true,
but I don't see love present,
if I don't see you.
A what if question.
My reply, simple,
as it was, then.
If I were a writer of melodies,
sad songs would be my forte,
for sadness comes the easiest
to those who sit and wait
and do nothing, simply nothing,
to change.
Weep not for those sad songs
for they are merely words,
of frustrated lovers,
stating their lament,
of sadness.
Time passes,
memories remain,
of my love, as I,
try, my thoughts, to retain.
I love you, for all
the world to see.
I love you for what
you do to me.
You are the Mother of
our children,
the keeper of our house,
you are everything and
beloved spouse.
You are there when
I need you
and when I don't,
you're not around.
You love me when
I'm good
and you love me
when I am bad,
you offer me consort
and comfort, when I'm sad.
You are my love,
everlasting,
no matter what will be,
as my love for you,
is for eternity.
A re-published poem,
from 6 years ago.
about the slow slide,
into Dementia.
Without a moon or star above,
I stand, in darkness, alone.
My thoughts are splashed with color
that comes, not from my eye.
Your face as I remember,
floats airily in space,
as tender springtime breezes blow
the hair from off your face.
Your eyes flash with eternal light
of loves unfilled claim
and flecks of sorrow, can be seen
for the man who has a name,
that you cherish.
He will stand, eternally alone,
in the blackest void,
knowing not of missing love
from one who waits to see,
a smile of recognition.
There are many reasons,
for seeking solitude.
Being lonesome, is not being lonely,
for lonely people are lacking friends.
Lonesome people miss their
surroundings or their friends
and loved ones.
Wishing to be alone, at moments,
is looked upon, by some, as
being anti social,
when, in fact, people have
different needs or if you will,
a different tolerance of others.
Don't be surprised, if I seek
to be alone, away from you.
I sit here,
in early morn,
reflecting about,
when I was born.
A Midwife,
a dining room table, was done.
Out soon, there was born,
a boy. A son.
An aged, old story,
We hear over again.
Why can life become cruel
And bitter when?
Why must we choose
between two friends,
we both love and trust?
The hurt that is seen,
the pain, that is not,
is hard to understand.
Why those whose love
had been, for years,
now has turned into sand
and dried up tears.
When you are alone, many thoughts
of loneliness will enter your mind.
Talk about it with your friends and family.
It's not easy, being lonely,
especially, when surrounded
by friends.
But when your good,
nothing is difficult.
I can find myself in
pits of sorrow,
covered with my own
self pity,
feeling sad,
for no reason.
What day
will it end.
When you go
from Love,
to just being,
a friend?
How will I know?
Your guess is as good as mine...
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