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A what if question.
My reply, simple,
as it was, then.
If I were a writer of melodies,
sad songs would be my forte,
for sadness comes the easiest
to those who sit and wait
and do nothing, simply nothing,
to change.
Weep not for those sad songs
for they are merely words,
of frustrated lovers,
stating their lament,
of sadness.
Time passes,
memories remain,
of my love, as I,
try, my thoughts, to retain.
I love you, for all
the world to see.
I love you for what
you do to me.
You are the Mother of
our children,
the keeper of our house,
you are everything and
beloved spouse.
You are there when
I need you
and when I don't,
you're not around.
You love me when
I'm good
and you love me
when I am bad,
you offer me consort
and comfort, when I'm sad.
You are my love,
everlasting,
no matter what will be,
as my love for you,
is for eternity.
A re-published poem,
from 6 years ago.
about the slow slide,
into Dementia.
Without a moon or star above,
I stand, in darkness, alone.
My thoughts are splashed with color
that comes, not from my eye.
Your face as I remember,
floats airily in space,
as tender springtime breezes blow
the hair from off your face.
Your eyes flash with eternal light
of loves unfilled claim
and flecks of sorrow, can be seen
for the man who has a name,
that you cherish.
He will stand, eternally alone,
in the blackest void,
knowing not of missing love
from one who waits to see,
a smile of recognition.
There are many reasons,
for seeking solitude.
Being lonesome, is not being lonely,
for lonely people are lacking friends.
Lonesome people miss their
surroundings or their friends
and loved ones.
Wishing to be alone, at moments,
is looked upon, by some, as
being anti social,
when, in fact, people have
different needs or if you will,
a different tolerance of others.
Don't be surprised, if I seek
to be alone, away from you.
I sit here,
in early morn,
reflecting about,
when I was born.
A Midwife,
a dining room table, was done.
Out soon, there was born,
a boy. A son.
An aged, old story,
We hear over again.
Why can life become cruel
And bitter when?
Why must we choose
between two friends,
we both love and trust?
The hurt that is seen,
the pain, that is not,
is hard to understand.
Why those whose love
had been, for years,
now has turned into sand
and dried up tears.
When you are alone, many thoughts
of loneliness will enter your mind.
Talk about it with your friends and family.
It's not easy, being lonely,
especially, when surrounded
by friends.
But when your good,
nothing is difficult.
I can find myself in
pits of sorrow,
covered with my own
self pity,
feeling sad,
for no reason.
What day
will it end.
When you go
from Love,
to just being,
a friend?
How will I know?
Your guess is as good as mine...
One more moment,
is all I ask,
to be with you again.
One moment is the past.
Memories are pushing out,
from my brain.
Memories of love
and an occasional disdain.
No one prepares you
of the loss of a life.
In my case, it was,
the loss of my wife.
Ive been told to feel lucky,
in this play, life,
for all of the time,
I spent with my wife.
While the information is true,
except for the rest of your life,
please understand, your loss,
cuts like a sharp knife.
Please spare me the platitudes,
they don't help my wife,
and certainly do nothing,
reduce my sadness and strife.
When this life is over,
it will never be,
for I've lost her,
for an eternity.
Love knows no limit,
Love knows no bound.
Love is now missing.
Love cannot be found.
Here I am,
yearning for love.
A friendship to secure,
forever my trove.
Words become a topic,
when used to describe,
a collection of words,
into a finished document.
This was what I was trying to
convey in this December 2020 writing,
Many of the words, unused before,
lay as castoffs on my writing room floor.
Wrinkled, dried as leaves from a tree,
waiting, still waiting to be used by me.
Words forgotten, well past their age,
can be returned to life; to a page
in a notebook, a paper, using a pen,
to be written for the reader again.
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