Magazine Posts

When the lights flicker.
When the moon starts it's dance,
remember the feeling,
when you took your big chance,
one step forward; a new romance.

My enjoyment in life,
is when I find the time,
to write out the words,
for all of you to read.
It brings me pleasure
at this time and I need
to fulfill my hunger
and to sate my soul.

The bite in your smile,
has been gone for awhile,
why does it have to be,
for we were alone?
The crinkling around your eyes,
brings forth, a hint of love,
and knowing the life,
you have led. A World of hurt.
still haunts me now,
as my memories have faded
and slipped, in the clutter
of my rambling thoughts.
Why is this so?
I wish I knew.

Here sit I
in a living Hell,
coping with life,
not doing so well,
yet, my life is simple,
compared to my wife,
who's memories have fled.
No matter the dread,
which comes over me,
with the tears I shed,
as I no longer see.
The person I married,
will no longer be,
here to provide comfort
to this old couple, we.
Goodbye my love,
our parting brings sorrow,
for there is no future
of a beautiful tomorrow.

Another day gone.
Another memory lost,
as the months pass.
What are the costs,
when long term memory
is no longer here?
What happens when love
is no longer near?

The knifes' blade is sharp
but not as sharp as the tongue.
The blade will cut
and the cut will heal,
where the cut from a tongue,
will remain hidden for years.

The wail of a siren,
caught my aged ear.
Why does the sound
bring forth an old fear?
Volunteer fireman, what you were
in smaller communities,
when action was needed.
I stood and the siren did sound.
We followed the engine,
out of our small town.
A barn was on fire,
the flames were a roar.
We entered the barn,
to help set the horses free.
The fire was over,
the barn had burnt down,
but we didn't lose our animals
in this smallest old town.

A childish behavior,
is what I see,
as she goes around,
following me.
There is little rational thought
of where to go,
if it's right or not.
Most short term memory
is already missing, a lot.

I will write no more tomorrow,
perhaps.
The thoughts in this mind is in a
match,
for control of my elusive emotions;
complicated,
I desire to do what's right for
her.

Inane questions
are asked of me.
Conversations abut
the border of insanity.

The life we live now,
is a rock strewn path.
Smooth walking at times,
stumbling progress we go,
down the road of sorrow,
slowly we stroll.
My heart is broken, again,
I have lost count,
for there are no words,
which are laying about,
for me to use, describing the pain.
I know from my past
it will take time to heal,
but heal, it certainly will.

The little things you notice.
She uses her spoon for eating
all things, as the fork has
become an unusable tool.
She adapts to the use,
I can see she is no fool.