Magazine Posts

When you are offering to help
and there is no response.
Should you pursue or abandon,
a good relationship?

It's not what I want to do.
It's an obligation, to help.
There is nothing, Nada, included.
A life's commitment will be that,

simply that, nothing more.
I want to aide someone in
these, my last days, of life.
Why is that so difficult?

When life,
goes awry.
When you're told,
you are about to die.

Not this instant,
but a few months from now.
Not the method,
nor the how.

How is your mind
supposed to process,
when the uncertainties,
of living under duress.

Should I have quit,
or give up the chase?
Not on my watch.
It's my life, not a race.

Irons in the fire,
paper products in the back.
It is now time to move,
returning to your last Trak.

When the ivory keys, on the piano,
have all turned black,
I will remember,
it's the end of days.
No more days to track.

Clear your soul, speaking out,
answer for all you know.
It will then be the time,
to do your own farewell show.

Silence is golden,
so I've been told,
while others profess,
their sadness, as life does unfold.

Sometimes,
I would like to say,
put a sock in it,
you're not helping my day.

We all have our worries,
you're not the only one.
so would you allow us to grieve,
until we are done?

I haven't given up.
I'll fight. Won't pretend,
but at this point, in time,
my life is still going to end.

What a glorious time.
A time for the story to end.
Finishing this life's journey.
A life I do not have to pretend

When all of the roses,
have fallen from the branch,
is the time when my values,
should look at romance.

Romance for another,
in these remaining days?
What kind of life would that be,
when the days run out of rays?

Seeping from
the corner of my mind,
of nothing good,
almost all of it benign.

Where are the thoughts,
of the yesterdays?
Have they disappeared,
and gone away?

I wish I knew,
the answer to,
perhaps, then, I
would know what to do.

I hope I'm not, going through,
this, "Woe is me" period", now.
It's not healthy, this I know,
but it's still difficult, so how,

do I connect this feeling,
which has a grip on me,
when I see no promise,
of what I might be?

The last time, you talked to me,
I swore, you wanted to fight.
Uncertain as to what you wanted,
I left and stayed out of sight.

Now, many months have passed,
and I'm no longer, in this plight.
If you would like to talk again,
it will be after; we flee or fight.

I love the day.
I love the night.
I don't love the reason,
my life, has changed to fright.

As the end of life,
draws nye and near,
where are the hidden,
suppressed feelings of fear?

Never been the sharpest blade,
in this drawer of life,
but hey! let that slide,
I said I wasn't the sharpest knife