Magazine Posts

What is the meaning
of the word, love?
Is it a miracle cure,
of whom we are,
or might want to be?
Love can be abundant,
for all who you know
or a singular affection
of a deeper emotion.
In any event, it's not
limited to you but
available to all who
want to love you.

I do not like myself
at this moment.
Moving my loved one
to a memory care unit
is not sitting well with me.
Perhaps I am biased,
about her abilities,
being stronger than others I've seen.
Am I doing the right thing,
or is this a convenience for me?

Forlorn the Moon
in the off-color sky,
asking of life's question.
Please tell me why?

You steal my love's
memories, of life's joy.
They exist no longer.
Was it the ploy?

A benevolent God is,
not what you are,
while a life is taken
from Heaven a far.

She knows not my name,
of this I agree.
She's says I'm her husband,
but cannot put a name to me.
She will say, "Yu Hu", at times,
"Hey You", yet I still see her,
when she says, "I love you"
with her words of sincerity.

A roar by our window,
more noise at the door.
Rain is coming in batches,
wind is an aide.
Stay warm inside,
be not afraid,
for this passing storm,
will soon exit and be gone,
and there will be Sun,
comes the new dawn.

I am here with you now,
and I always will be,
waiting for forgiveness
and our souls to be free.

I've never met anyone
quite like you,
of this, I am sure.
You post of adventures
and all which you do,
of golfing, bird hunting,
to name just a few.
A designer of clothing
or shipping of wares,
then off to places
about which I have read,
fishing, merchandising,
photo shoots too.
You're quite the person,
a most remarkable you.

A wayward shroud
has fallen
over me.
I cannot breathe;
cannot see.
Blinding me now,
hoping to be,
returning again,
life's new reality.

Here sit I,
alone in the room,
mind mired down
in mental gloom.
Feelings I have,
forcasting the doom,
which I feel is
cold as a tomb.

A golden orb,
a mottled Sun.
Is this the way
the World Begun?

Downward spiral,
began the day,
as common sense
has gone away.

Spiraled ribbons of sanity
have been compromised,
for those who notice,
changes, which came over me.

A careless use, a sentence break,
using words which atrophy.
Mattering not, what path to take,
losing my touch with humanity.

I am transparent
as an opaque glass.
My mind still cloudy,
with words I amass.
Words of frustration,
not joyful to me,
but words dispicable,
is what I see.

I do not need this
at my point in life.
Enough, already,
she is still my wife.

Can you come the morrow,
at a quarter past three.
I'll be alone,
she's sitting next to me.