Magazine Posts

A quick hello; A long goodbye.
The life we live and wonder why,
One, who is good; It's not I,
Becomes ill and then we try
To determine, the reason why.
So it becomes, the long goodbye.

I came this way, I know not why,
For there were other paths I could try.
It matters, no more, as life is fast
And will soon be a footnote of the past.

The best things in this life are free.
Free from the hate and dependency
Of living your life with many a friend
And behaving well, so you don't offend
Or infringe on another's personal space,
Not knowing the color of their face.

Wind blowing, through all the trees.
Shaking dead branches to the ground.
It is not a sound that will please,
As the Widow Makers do abound.

Note. A widow maker was a large branch that could fall from a tree and
severely hurt a person on the ground. In the old days, it was a logger.

It matters not, what you think of me,
For I will be what I want to be.
Free to write about my World view.
Free to write down words for you.
If you like them or if you don't,
It is your view, that always count.

The small mouse, sits under the tree,
Looking for something to eat, once again.
Keep you eyes open, as you scurry about,
For danger exists in the air above
And all over the wet, soggy ground.
An Owl will see your movement, or not
Or a Fox will track you down.
So, stay close to the shelter you're in
And don't become a meal for them.

Rain falling
Ground muddily wet
Rubber boots

A flower still blooms between us,
Although our love is past.
The passion that devoured us,
In this earthly life, is lost,
In the stars of the heavens,
So dark, on the night that didn't last.
Farewell my love, farewell to thee,
For with my passing, you will be free.

It's not OK, that on this night,
I sleep for an hour, no more.
My brain is fried yet keeps
Spewing words until my ears roar.
Writing more nonsense about,
A door or words
Sleeping on the floor.
What's next, I ask
On bended knee,
As I wrestle with my sanity.
Please let me
Get some sleep,
Or this will soon
Be the end of me.

To watch a person's life, slip away
Brings thought's of what to say.

You said to me,
I said to you,
That life can be,
So untrue.
Not the way we
Meant it to be.
Harmony will soon
Be the newest tune.
Run from here,
If you still can,
For here he comes,
The Flim Flam Man.

The wind swirls around my neck,
As I walk, in the early dawn.
The coffee that I drank
Is not keeping me warm.
Pulling my hoody over my head;
Tying the string, under my chin,
Will curb the outside chill,
But not the chill within.
The fear, I feel, is by my side,
Every night and every day.
All I can do now, is to pray
To God, that the disease will go away.
I know it won't but I must try
And I must not let her see me cry.