Magazine Posts

Would that I could feel your pain
as my love for you will remain
by your side, until our goodbye.
Keeping you safe from harm, I'll try.

Delusional? Perhaps that's what I am.
But one thing is certain, I do understand
The need for love in this World.
Not the hate and fear that is spread
By those who appear to be in control
And lie, cheat and rob with much vitriol.

Words a flutter, through the air.
Words that are said with little care.
Words that hurt, but you're unaware.
Words can't be withdrawn, being there.
Words are of love and of hate.
Words are those when we relate.
Words for today become tomorrows disarray.
Words of sorrow, for those we pray.

Write again? Perhaps I shan't
for write I will and I'll rant
about the unfairness of life today,
for those where illness comes to stay,
while cures for disease is kept at bay.
What kind of God are you now?
When suffering and strife you allow?
Praying both night and day
with few results is my dismay.

Here sit I
naked to thee.
My leaves all gone,
much like a tree,
but lest just suppose
that's not me
for I am a Rose,
dormant to see.

I await you now.
I await you still.
No matter when,
I always will
Be there for you
Both here and then
For you are now
My life long friend.

I had great balance
when I was young,
but that has now
escaped my being
for simple tasks, you see
are hampered by neuropathy.
No feeling in legs
nor in my feet.
Wobbling about on
trembling legs
no matter what
or where I walk.
I'm best right now
to just sit and talk.

Excuse my ma'am,
I said to she,
but when she turned
she was a he.

I grasp the pen
within my hand.
My wrists complain
with pain.
It now appears
that arthritis
is back again.

There will be no tomorrow
if you're not there.
There will be no tomorrow
or a love to share.
Be safe my love,
be safe and free,
for in the morrow
I'll wait for thee.

My mind is a flutter,
Clogged with lots of clutter.
I need a mental enema,
That is for sure.
Stupid words.
No rhyming in season
What is the reason,
That my heads hurts
In the morning,
But not at night.
My back is aching,
Until a hot shower.
I feel like a horse,
Rode hard and
Put away wet
And yet,
These are words
That I now get.
Why is that?
I ask the Lord.
Is it because
I'm mentally bored
Or that this writing
Will be so abhorred?

My mind is wandering
far and wide.
Running from something
I cannot hide.
Trying hard to forget
and the plight
that seems to visit
only at night.