Why must the life we live
be so unbearably long,
when there is no longer music;
no words to sing in a song?

Pillars of light
from the full moon above,
pollenizes the night air,
with a new growth of love.

My thoughts today
are those of thanks.
Thank you
for allowing me to be,
here for my wife,
who needs me now.
To care for her
as said in our vow;
to honor and cherish
for as long
as we shall live.
Thank you Lord
for the life you give.

There is always a moment,
when I can find the time
and will pour from a bottle
my next glass of wine,
for the wonderful new taste
of the God's nectar devine.

Wherever you go,
wherever there's air,
I will be with you,
no time for despair.

The love you seek,
is mine to give.
It will cost nothing,
if you will live.

Live a long, safe
and a healthy life.
Use all time,
be still, my wife.

I love you more;
every day with you,
if you leave me,
what will I do?

Stay here beside me,
cling to me tight,
I will be here
for you, every night.

Would it be, I could fly
through the night air
and race through the clouds.
There is no freedom, when in a plane.
You are flying, but it isn't the same.
Become the magic, you say you are.
Fly to the Moon and be a star,
for it is your new destiny
and you are what you will see.

A square of paint,
Glass half full
of many thoughts,
about feelings for you.

An imperfect smile,
was on her face.
A subtle hint
of a future embrace.
A wonderous moment,
of time and place,
to meet once again
and begin the chase.
A chase or pursuit,
ending in an embrace.

Down in the depths
of the forest tall,
lie the shadows,
amongst the trees.
Sunshine never covering
nor coming, in between,
the rocky crevasse,
were the moss will bleed,
the moisture from the ground
which remains to all, unseen.

Gone the long nights,
soon the short days,
as day light will be
ours to soon praise.
From whence came love
and a lost love, too,
as the words in my head,
begin the fondest adieu.
I love you more than
words allow me to say
as the shortness of life
passes one more day.
To see you again,
before our time is gone,
is like a drizzle of rain,
and life will continue on.

Please tell me your story
while I tell you mine,
for the thought of your smile
will be those, so divine.

When I think of my father,
Who passed on long ago,
I strive to remember
The tone of his voice,
its cadence, its timbre,
To connect with his soul.

But it pains me to say
That his voice is no more,
No more in my mind.
So, I wonder anew,
Will I ever remember?
Or will the sadness ensue?

A sunny day,
a slight breeze,
a quiet spot,
amongst the trees.
A greater place,
for the day to seize.

Does life we know,
leave with a rush,
or go it's way
as wind and dust?

A fish out of water,
not close to the Sea,
not what I asked for,
it is what it will be,
to work hard for family,
in this The land of the Free.

There is nothing like
writing poetry and prose,
to describe all the beauty,
as seen in a Rose.

Moisture wets the lid of my eye,
as I resist the urge to not cry.
Seeing her before me, a smiling face,
with all of her beauty and natural grace.
I must keep her close; close to me,
for my need is her safety I must see.
Long have I loved you; every day
is a new one and I will say
I love you in my own way.

Friendship is good,
as it sets the stage,
for good friends to
talk and who may engage,
becoming another phase in life.
Full of love, jealousy, turn the page,
for friends can become lovers
and love can become rage.

All thoughts of worry.
All thoughts of dread,
Now keep running through
my white haired head.
There they will stay
until it's judgement day

There are reasons,
are there not,
for our behavior,
we have sought?
How we treat
Sisters and Brothers,
not how we
treat each other.
There's no love,
only the sorrow
when praying for
a new tomorrow.
Stand thee tall.
Do not borrow,
life is short
and will end
in the darkness
and the wind.

In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne.
But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,
Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,
He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies,
"Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?"

Edmund Yates (1831 - 1894) British journalist, novelist and dramatist. Born in Edinburgh. In 1854 he published his first book "My Haunts and their Frequenters", after which followed a succession of novels and plays.Yates was perhaps best known as proprietor and editor, under the pen-name of "Atlas", of The World Society newspaper.