Magazine Posts

A Rose petal, all dried,
clung to the bush,
until it had died.
A sad tale of a love, down,
as the Summer passed
and the Rose turned brown.

I must live,
I must survive
and protect my wife
from those who choose,
to not treat her well,
in this physical space
of Dementia Hell.

When the walls of life
begin to crumble and fall.
When your memories
have turned to dust,
who will you love,
if you do not trust?

You don't know,
the path I'm on.
Please don't judge me
after I am gone.

The raven black hair,
draped over neck and cheek.
Her eyes were blue,
she did not speak.
The smile radiates light
of the vision you seek.
Be cautious of her
she's not for the meek.

Those days are gone,
they will be no more,
as words of ruination,
lay strewn in piles
around the desk.

What choices you make,
in life's daily scene,
affects many others,
know what I mean?
Love is very fragile,
but it can survive
when provided by those
who are similarly inclined.
Join hand with others,
if you want to adjust,
while trust in another,
who feels as they must.

It's difficult to write
words to a page,
when the sadness
of tears-soaked paper,
is your medium of choice.

Sell most of your possessions.
Sell the home where you stay.
The physical possessions
will soon go away,
as memories exist
but only for a few.

Break away,
you beautiful one.
Leave me now,
my time is done.

I am asleep.
In my head
are thoughts, now,
believing I am dead.

What thoughts, these,
rising in the morning.
A Spring breeze
coming to warn me,
must I soon appease,
a checkered past?
Dropping to my knees,
my prayers are for the past.

Love was here,
now it's gone.
The words ring,
on and on.