Can I write without doing a rhyme?
Or is it my burden to carry on?
Writing for me, frees up my soul
And allows the expression of my joy
Or sorrow, of what happens in life.
A freedom to write, of what I'm thinking.
I need not publish, my thoughts to you,
But I can if I wish or if I want
To let you know, how my mind works.
At least those are thoughts in my head,
For this very moment and at this time.

A bright Moon,
silver orb in
the Southwestern sky,
watching the Earth
as clouds pass by.
What stories you'd tell,
if there was a way,
to hear all the words,
there were to say.
Please, oh please
tell us
for we want to know,
the secrets you hold
within that silver glow.

It matters not,
where you have been.
If it was, done for love
or a conjugal sin.
My sight is dimming,
as my hearing goes
and my body's a mess.
The hair, once luxurious
has started to leave,
as balding approaches.
My ears are starting to sag,
with skin now mottled
but this much I know,
as the climate keeps warming,
some of us must go
to that place of sugar and spice
as long as we have plenty of ice.

It's a strange World we live in,
Full of truths and of some lies,
That may appear quite different
When seen through another's eyes.

A World of great frustration
Or of a lover's sighs.
No matter, what your thought,
We all must now realize,
We are all quite different,
But it should not be a surprise,
That we are all the same
When seen through our God's eyes.