Public Posts Seattle, WA Seattle, WA

"There is nothing like an old friend."

My old friend Art dropped by,
to see what condition
my condition was in.
Sharp pains in my wrists.
Oh, what a treat it was.
No special reason
on that ordinary day,
just take more Tylenol
for arthritis.

A midnight dream,
happened before.
Woke up and
was on the floor.

Don't remember falling.
No ache or bruise,
no memory,
nothing to lose.

Is it envy or jealousy?
I may never know,
but the Breakfast Club,
is again, on the go.

The same group of people,
in the same spot every day,
for all of the days meals,
where they are captive, I say.

The rain, with wind,
beating on the glass,
while I, inside,
watching the pane,
become wet again.
Water streaming down,
to the windowsill,
while I slurp coffee,
from a cup, cold.

My inner being,
is screaming at me.
Quit what you're doing,
for you'll never be,
the person you wanted,
in this life or eternity.

I see you in the morning,
you are my surprise.
When you greet me
I can see your eyes.

Thank you for caring,
thank you for what's done.
For what it's worth,
you are my favorite one,

Waxing poetic,
with word verbosity,
is a way of writing,
unfamiliar to me.

For want of love,
he shaved his head.
When he was embarrassed,
his head would turn red.

The wind was cold,
as was his head.
To stay warm, he
wore a hat instead.

When the line breaks,
I may not stay,
or choose, another place
and move away.

I feel a need to flee,
or perhaps, fly away,
to begin a life alone.
It will be the saddest day.

How do you walk away?
I don't know when,
it will finally come,
The Long Goodbye.

Please don't tell me,
it was God's way,
my faith is gone,
I will not pray.

I reflect on love,
what does it mean?
Can we love others,
more than one?

Is that being fickle?
I don't know,
but loving all,
my feelings will show.

Is it wrong to say,
I love you.
Is it wrong to care,
for another, who,

brings forth,
much joy to you?
What harm are words,
saying you love me too.

I hear the words,
filling the air,
asking for her mother,
in a voice of despair.

She loves our oldest son,
while say he's me.
She doesn't know,
it's I she can see.

Dementia is so cruel,
there is no comfort to see,
knowing of others,
who are the same as me.

May the wrath of God,
start falling on me,
not on my wife.
Is this my blasphemy?

I don't care if it is,
I've wasted time and breath.
I will await my visit,
with the Old Dr. Death.

Revenge can be sweet,
a dish best served cold.
It takes your courage,
being quite bold.

No matter
where is grows.
No matter the scene,
a Rose is a Rose.

Growing in the garden,
or in morning light,
it retains its beauty,
all day and all night.