Magazine Posts

The fireplace is burning bright,
on this chilly, crispy night.
It's not a wood fire but gas,
removing dampness as hours pass.
I'm still cold, so I'd better
go and put on my sweater.

The last flowers that bloomed this Fall,
Have wilted and faded, to none at all.
The colors that were so intense,
Have darkened, so there is no pretense
Of life, as their hardened stems sing
"I'm gone and won't bloom, 'til Spring.

Here I sit, again,
before the morning light.
Writing out the words,
coming at darkest night.
I'm tired, with aching head,
telling me "Go back to bed."
For just a few minutes,
I must stay,
or my words
will quickly, go away.

Is it you that I always see
When I'm caught in my reverie?
I need to know, believe you, me,
If dreams of mine will ever be.

If I say to you
that love doesn't matter
and the heart doesn't break,
it's more like a shatter.
The pieces lie there,
all over the ground
and that only time
allows love to rebound.

Dancing in the dark
alone in my room,
readying myself,
for the coming gloom
of losing just you
for that may doom
me to a life alone
like a silenced tomb.

The saddest thing, I know today,
Is watching you slowly slip away.
I pray for you, night and day,
Asking for you to please stay
With me and not go away.

The leaves keep falling to the ground,
Floating so gently, without sound.
Reds, yellows and some shades of brown,
Creating a carpet, covering grass all around.

There are times, I feel obsessed.
There are times, I feel depressed.
These times, need to be addressed,
So these emotional moments are suppressed.

Apocalyptic scenes, from Butte County.