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.

I look out the window
and I see,
a three-quarter Moon
looking at me.
It is in the morning hour;
a quarter past three.
I am going back to bed
to be close to thee.

When day is done,
she has gone to bed.
I sit here, alone,
thoughts racing thru my head.

What to do for her?
No ideas to shed,
for moving her away,
my life will be dead.

Times are there,
with words now unsaid,
where moving her now
brings on the dread
of not seeing her here,
but with daily visits instead.

Word after word, feed my Soul.
Words that are too many
that spill from the bowl
of this aged mind,
no longer can tell
difference between Heaven
and a place in Hell.