Magazine Posts

when the love,
of which you have spoken,
has been replaced by,
an aged, tarnished token,

then you too,
will have found love,
through the blessing,
of God above.

Think ye not,
of worldly claim.
Be at peace
staying the same.

If you would care
to come to me,
be the person,
you want to be.

Fighting insanity,
every day,
as my life,
slips away.

I feel good,
is what to know,
for my life is my
own traveling show.

How it will end
everyone will know
for I may well be
the next one to go.

A simple poem,
it means so much,
for I may have
lost my writing touch.

Of love
and loss,
of a soul,
such as she.
What happens
now, when her
soul is free.

Life is short,
full of many treasures now.
Times change and here you are,
unable to maintain your vow.

She is gone,
away from thee.
You will never more,
her face to see.

Loneliness becomes
a part of your life,
for you no longer have,
your beautiful wife.

I miss you,
my darling soul,
but will soon be there,
and we'll be whole.

The finality of life,
as we know it today,
will soon change,
and go away.

It's OK for in this,
our life's cycle here,
will bring forth a
time which we held dear.

Life must end,
this we know.
I wish to exit quietly,
as my final show.

There are time when,
we should reflect on life.
This is one of those times,
when faced with strife,

you find there are outside,
influences effecting your way
of thinking. How you view,
what once was a safe day.

It is unfortunate, when life,
doesn't remain the same,
and we revert to calling it,
by another name.

A small fire,
with embers bright,
a perfect place to
contemplate tonight.

In the early days of my writing,
I chose to write verse,
or in my case, rhyming poetry.
I didn't know, for it was terse.

When we write of things,
which memory supplies,
may we assume we know,
before the memories dies?

In early evening,
I fear the light,
when nighttime falls
and stars are bright.

What fear is there,
which lives in man,
when we must begin,
over and over, again?

A fear of the unknown,
or what lies ahead,
are often manifestations,
within our head.

Love has, many memories.
Here is one of imagination,
which I wish I could revisit.