Magazine Posts

A lament,
a series of stories and songs,
which must all vary,
as life moves along.

What is the reason,
to have content this long,
as the dying of culture,
or the birth of a song.

I long to see you,
hearing your sweet voice,
though it wouldn't be real,
I could still rejoice.

I want to run away,
to scurry and hide,
unless I can find another,
to be by my side.

Is that worrisome to me,
as I sit here and write,
or just a symptom of
my grief and respite?

Writing words,
do not have to be hard.
Simple placement, is like
playing in your back yard.

When the Angel of Death,
flies out to the Sea,
is she looking for someone?
Is she looking for thee?

Live life to the fullest,
live as long as you can,
for when life is over,
you will then understand.

Fly to the river.
Fly to the Moon.
You'll look forever,
we'll see each other, soon.

Strange words,
at a strange time
in this strange life,
of my strange mind.

I have slept with
women, in another life led.
There is no fear of intimacy,
withing this elderly head.

So please tell me,
what fear should there be,
when all whom I meet,
I compare them to thee.

It's not fair,
I know it now,
but this is a new game
to play and I know not how.

When love whispered your name,
Twas early spring, many years ago.
I had been doing research,
on who I could possibly know.

And there you were,
stepping in to my life,
when we fell in love,
becoming man and wife.

Are birds, good luck,
or must we pretend,
until our lives,
come to an end?

If I talk about a pigeon,
but don't mention a dove,
is that sacrilegious,
if I don't talk about Love?

Owls are wise,
in many ways,
While eagles rise
to the top of the haze.

Craziness lives,
in what I read,
as words I should know,
are stuck in my head.

Grieving's now easy,
what memories were,
I miss my love,
in this my silent lair.

Why do you do that,
I ask every day.
So many thoughts,
won't stay away.

After the rain has fallen,
on grass, roof and leaves,
the time will come to pass,
when memories freeze.

Memories, fade quickly,
at this time, when we relive,
as our attention falters,
during the time we grieve.

I caught a glimpse of you,
last night, as I sat in my chair.
I turned, said hello, but you weren't there.

I feel you around me,
when I'm in my room.
Is it all in my head
or will you be here soon?