Magazine Posts

I like to talking with you,
but not on the phone.
I feel the warmth
in your voice tone.

Your voice,
like honey to a Bee.
When I hear you,
I'm where I should be.

I don't want to write,
to scare you away.
I mean to write
to hear you say,

I like what you write.
Do more of it how?
I want to understand,
where you are now.

A tormented mind
is what I see,
not for her but
the old fool me.

The fire drew dim,
when the embers cooled.
So true in life,
it pays to not be fooled.

As in life, we must,
stoke life's fires,
as a day draws out,
a small flame becomes a pyre.

Life's fires spring forth,
almost every day.
Put them out quickly,
to avoid a phased array.

There are times,
quite a few,
when I realize why,
I write like I do.

My interest in people,
knowing quite a few,
inspires me to write,
so it's what I do.

A vision of smiles
and eyes of blue
or brown are also
lovely too.

What life will bring,
death will take away.
Matters not the strength present,
just a realization life will not stay.

He walked the path
of Life again,
full of indifference,
never the twain.

To meet again,
in a World so lost.
Missing a chance
and the Holy Ghost.

Oh no,
please don't let it be,
for it looks like,
I'm losing my identity.

What else is happening,
what else can it be,
one more step to oblivion,
losing my personality.

What a bad duress
it gathers to be,
when I will no longer
know if I am me.

It was late in the Fall,
sitting, trying to amend,
my likes and dislikes
to keep from making mistakes again.

Thinking about this stage in life,
about the uncertainties we face,
during our brief time, in this reality.
Do we have compassion or a trace

of kindness, hidden within our being?
As members of the Human Race,
We need empathy and passion.
The well-being of others has a place.

Perhaps, this is by design,
when War or Genocide prevails.
Elimination of ethnicities, in battle
used to control over population, life fails.

What life will bring,
Death will take away.
Matters not the strength,
realizing, they will not stay.

Born, we are.
Live, we do.
Love, we may.
Languish, we can.
Die, we will.

I will write of tomorrow
and the joy it will bring,
with friends and family,
we'll gather to sing.

A joyful time of life
a special time of year,
where we all gather,
singing songs, so dear.

She lay abandoned,
like a worn-out shoe.
Alone, was she
being homeless too.

Falling on tough times,
no help, she couldn't do
anything, no family,
who to turn to.

Trying to work.
What address? A few.
Could she use them?
Lord, what shall I do?