Magazine Posts

Love is something
which we have.
There isn't a limit
of how much we gave.

Don't be dumb,
don't you succumb
to the loud beat,
without a drum.

The rain is back.
It is good to see
and to smell the freshness.
At least it is to me.

It has been said, by others,
"clothes make the man."
So tell me how it does
and help me understand.
I wore a hat when I was young;
a great time for me,
back in the year, 1943.
My little Sister, stood by my side.
To this day she is my friend.
She has a recurring Cancer, back again.
I pray for her nightly; can't pretend,
I'm worried for her recovery
and will pray for her once again.

Down on the street of broken dreams,
lay the ruins of too many lives.
Not their fault, when many lost jobs.
A collapse in Governing, which soon became
small businesses closing due to government edict.

Black is the night.
No clouds in sight,
just the dim rays
from a half moon light

The words I write,
come harder now,
as I can no longer,
find the time and
must leave, for now.

Black is the coal.
White is the Snow.
Life is at a standstill.
I have no place to go.
The road to Perdition,
is the slow road I know well.
A well travelled road,
leading straight to Hell.

"The Devils is in the details"
he says as he sloshes paint,
with broad brush strokes,
upon the bare wall,
not being careful at all,
but having the sense to
mask the trim and to place
a drop cloth under the area
he is now painting.

A short, written note
about a missing goat,
which cannot be found,
but was spotted aground.
It's where it laid,
after the last parade.
Why write of things,
which our memory brings?
It means nothing to
any, certainly not you.
Using just four words,
is not so absurd,
I would just say,
have a good day.

I want to run,
I want to hide,
for this life is just,
a one way ride.
Enjoy yourself,
when you can.
Remember you don't
need a new plan.

Why must I write
these words on this day,
when I no longer
care about what I say?