Your Interests About

Can I be, any less a man,
If I don't understand, who I am?
The answer, isn't for me to say,
But for your reply, on this day.

There is a light, inside my head,
That, on some occasion, is turned on.
When that happens, thoughts spew out
And I can see, what I'm about.

When they come, from near and far,
Some by boat, most by car,
Just to see about, who you are,
Do you now feel, like a star?

I can never, explain to you,
How I love, the things you do.
For the words, should sing and dance
And rekindle, any lost romance.

Why's the morning grass, covered with dew,
Reminding me of my love for you?
Is it because, on some future day
The love we knew, will go away?
It is not for us to understand.
Life will end and be so grand.

October 1-8, 2018

A poem can be, like a child.
Sometimes so meek and sometimes so wild.
Does this bode well, I ask of you?
For raising both, is what we do.

Will our love die, without a whimper
Or does it go away, like a roar?
Is the pain of losing, very hurtful,
Like nothing, we have ever felt before?
Do we fight through, all the suffering,
As we look for love, even more?
I ask of you, this question to help me,
For nothing else and nothing more.

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