Magazine Posts

You told me last night,
you'd be dead in 2 weeks.
Why do you say such
ridiculous words?
Are you angry with me?
Is that what it is? I hope not,
for I give what I can give.

There was a time
when I believed my Soul
was being held hostage.
Don't ask me to explain,
for I'm not sure I can;
it is the sub-conscience
of an old, old man.

On board our ship
in my casual uniform,
we were at Sea,
heading into a storm.
A Typhoon was forming,
South of Japan.
We were well South
of the course of the storm.
We entered white water;
the ship began to bounce.
The bow rose in the air,
and crashed back down,
for we were steering the course,
heading into the fray.
Standing at the bottom
of the ladder or stair,
you hung on to the rail;
up the ladder, in one bound,
as the bow rose.
A thrill at that time,
for all, I suppose.

Life is strange.
but it can be good,
just as long
as your not misunderstood.
The actions we take,
every day of our life,
will make a difference
of removing the strife.
Be kind to others,
these words I write,
are intended to help you,
please don't think they're trite.

I love you more each day
as I see more change,
when you ask me,
"Do you live near by?"
Or, "What are you doing here?"

Must I be the way I am?
What drives me in this, as a man?
When did I come to understand,
the loss of friends and family,
required adjustment, to the life I've led.
Don't be afraid, for our lives of pretend
will someday turn, go away and end.

May I rant?
Just for awhile.
When life is serious,
bring forth a smile.
If you read my words
and they aren't yours to see,
can you at least comment,
or is it hard to do

You are a mystery,
I enjoy to see.
Don't ever change,
Not even for me.

Remove the wrapping,
separate the chafe;
add words when needed,
you know the right path.
Refine the words,
It's what you must do,
to enable the reader,
to understand,
what is happening
to the loneliest man.

I am your darkness.
You are my light.
When you are with me,
My life is all right,
As long as you're near,
but if you go away,
it will be the precursor
of the end of my day.

My body craves something,
I cannot describe.
Perhaps it's a thirst
or a hunger too.
When you cannot decide,
perhaps it's just you.
To see your face
from a time long ago,
to have a chat over coffee
at the place we did go.

What are these words,
which spew from your head?
Are they words of comfort,
or written, only to be read?
"Good question", he says in his mind.
Write of the good; don't be unkind.
There is too much hate, on this day,
can't we write of our love,
how we feel, or say,
I love you my friends.
It's not hard said in this way.