Magazine Posts

The World cries,
about Ukranian plight,
as freedom dies,
and civilians take flight.

Write to paper,
all the words, I must,
before my mind,
fills with mental dust.

I now live to write,
about subjects I choose,
as I write about thoughts,
I do not wish to lose.

Please bear with me,
on this grey day,
while senility is starting
to find places to stay.
I must write, words true,
doing it for all,
but mostly for you.

What happens to life,
when your brain
starts to rust,
while your memories
become nothing but dust.
Having not the answer,
with a reply to you.
I will always try
doing what I do,
loving your sweet image
and always be true,
with my heart,
which belongs to you.

Will you still love me
when I see you today?
I dearly hope you will,
for this I will pray.

Sweet dreams, my love,
Sweet dreams to you.
Knowing you don't remember
I will remember for you.

Perhaps, it's you who inspires me,
for after our meeting,
my words are flowing,
quickly, loosely and free.
My arthritic hands start
cramping more frequently.

I have no intent
to quell the memories
my wife still has,
although, to me,
I feel on some days
it is the intent of others,
not in an obvious way.

When I hear, "I love you,"
stated to me, every day,
the words pique my emotions.
How do you cut some one
from your life
using a quasi, form of exile.
Something is missing.

It is the love of another.

Being cold
is no story,
about any
glory you
might think
is real,
for staying
warm is
the journey,
for which
we hurry,
as we
move back
to the Norm,
Sun and
some showers,
will bring
forth flowers.
A Spring
viewing pleasure,
no matter
the joy.
Truly a
feast for
one's eyes.
Rejoice now,
if you
know how,
to live
life as
you like.

Brackish the mind,
full of anguish and pain
of a losing of life.
How much time will remain
to relieve these moments,
by trying to explain
to one without reason,
whose forgotten your name?

All dressed in black,
with much golden bling,
earrings dangling from lobes,
'twas a beautiful thing.

A barren plain of sorrow,
is my life's path unchosen,
as I trudge towards the morrow,
of broken dreams, memories lost.
Life was special but isn't now.
Is she about to embark
on this painful journey?
I sit beside her,
she is alone, in her mind.
Providing comfort to her,
reducing the worry,
is my new task.
I cannot bear the thought
of her mental burden,
being this painful for her.
She doesn't remember,
but I still do.
The sadness is destroying me.

I visit my wife, most every day.
Going in early afternoon
and leaving after helping her to bed.
Last night she was confused. Not
knowing what to do. The first time
I have seen this behavior.
No concept of where to go or
what to do next.
She comments, "I'm alone. I need
to be with you."
I believe I now understand. She is
a young girl, in her mind, with no
memory and is mentally alone.
This must frighten her,
when she sits, a broken shell,
from her life before,
but still clinging to the love
she knew.