Magazine Posts

When the memory fades and is lost,
Reminiscing is gone and then you must
Explain that we have been here before.
Many times, I say as I approach the door,
But there is no recognition. No more.
The pain I feel, cannot be heard
Nor described by written word.
I am saddened to hear and see
That we will not have a memory
Of enjoying lunch; just you and me.

The words that come to me
Do so, it seems, quite frequently.
Write I must, for all to see,
The struggle with my sanity.

The snap; the crackle of a fire,
A smell of smoke, stokes a desire
Of watching the flickering flame transpire.
Changing to red glowing ash and ember;
Thus bringing those last thoughts to remember.

Tips of bulbs push through the ground.
Through soil and mulch, without sound.
This is the beginning; a timing thing,
Heralding a preview of the coming Spring.

I must be dead, in your eyes.
No more whispers, no more sighs.
No more words, no good byes
And now I'm at my demise.
The love that once was there,
Has vanished now, into the air.
A sad lament, I must say.
I will learn to love another day.

sreisnour65.myportfolio.com

A day that got more beautiful by the minute until the sunset

Someone once said I was a handsome man.
That was before all the aging began.
The skin starts to sag, not just a little.
What once was my chest, is now my middle.
My back that was straight and erect,
Is bent like a straw and has an effect,
On the pain that I feel in the morn,
Makes me wonder, when I was born.

I've started a brand new therapy,
That is to drink most comfortably.
A glass of wine or two, may be
The treatment that works for me.
I prefer a Red, but White can be
A choice that I make openly.
Fourteen Hands, Hot To Trot, is you see,
What I prefer to support my sanity.