Magazine Posts

a frog sat
on a bumpy log
water splashes.

Be proud of who you are
and the place you're from.
Our life always starts somewhere,
then it will succumb.

We grow older, day by day,
new events will become,
our life's experience and many
will meld together and be done.

I write, with no intent,
to harm others, with my words.
Many of the words maybe trite,
while some may be absurd.

I write all thoughts, which coursed
through this aged head,
and to make sure,
my EGO is fed.

The will,
no longer exist,
to fight another,
using your fist.

Have we met before,
in times gone by?
Another life, another time,
knowing you. Not sure why.

During the memory given,
our path crossed, then.
I do not recall,
why or when.

Different lives, in times past,
when lost souls meet,
in another time or place.
Lost memories are bittersweet.

I walk through the shadows,
my life's dream, not there.
No longer together,
one floor below, down the stair.

Forlorn, am I,
a pitiful sight.
Please let me sleep,
through the night.

A slight breeze,
ruffled her hair,
light brown in color,
no curls to share.

A beautiful smile,
she was unaware,
of the magic she held,
not one to compare.

Slender, she was,
a picture to see.
A joy, in my life,
for she loved me.

When I was young,
I loved to tease.
Now I am old,
my chest on my knees.

Don't laugh too long,
about my plight,
look in the mirror,
for your own delight.

I saw her again,
knew by her look,
she read my emotions,
like a page from a book.

Greeted her warmly,
to see her smile.
Success came my way,
hadn't happened in a while.

What a beauty you are,
I thought to myself.
My emotions came back,
from off of the shelf.

As long as I live,
I'll remember this time,
she told me I do,
and our hearts intertwined.

Long the winds blew,
memories of our past.
Looking back at the years,
life's events are now last.

Like the wind
before the storm,
life was grand,
life was norm.

What happens next,
when love is anew?
Memories are gone,
love didn't renew.

When you write
and words spring forth,
it can be the most,
beautiful thing.

Rhyming is not essential.
If it happens, it does,
no worries, as free verse,
is a beautiful thing.