Here I am, sitting,
with all these words
in my tired head,
when I really should
be back in bed.
"What's so compelling?"
Someone once, asked of me.
To write down
these words, so completely,
before they become
a piece of your
imagined vision,
that was written clumsily,
without the precision,
of being a completely,
sloppy rendition
of words, all plastered
together with rapid
hands and fingers,
with no errors
that will linger.

Wind with rain
New plantings knocked down
Wet ground.

The days draw short
Years move along
Quite rapidly.
Much like a song,
A very sad song
Of life's short time.
Memories that fade
And are gone, sublime
Is the mood,
That I see.
Please dear God,
Please help me.

Are you real?
Can you see
That my love,
Will always be
Meant for you
But not for me,
or my life
Of uncertainty.