Magazine Posts

Run from the dark corners of your mind,
though you know there is no escape.
No place to hide or to flee the scene.
The future is bright, but not now,
a world for me, is no longer here.
Her bright future is gone, not to be found.
I will soon, "pack my bag", as I leave
and will think of you as I weep.
What a sad ending, to a beautiful life.
You were the best person, you are my wife.

When the words become angry,
but are not directed at thee.
When the words become strong
like an ancient Oak tree.
Please try to recall now,
what I wrote was to be,
the kindest; the best person
everyone would see.

What is this life,
I write about?
Where is the joy,
when only the pain
is present, every day?
It won't leave soon;
will not go away.
She is a small child,
in her mind, now,
for it matters not
what she knew
as she is totally
dependent upon you.

When you drag rough thoughts from your mind,
they will appear on paper, line by line.
Are they good or a plain, simple rendition?
Will the words last or leave by attrition?
I no longer know the words for me,
for my heart lies broken, as it must be.
How can I enjoy this messed up life,
when I see the damage done to my wife?

I have a new child.
Not new to me,
but a child, now,
who is eighty three.
She no longer can do,
those basic tasks
nor make decisions.
She cannot tell you,
what any trouble she has,
for she knows not the name,
of any item she sees.
What kind of World must it be?
How do I take my lifelong friend,
who trusts me and move her to
a memory care unit.
It will destroy her. I know it
and yet , it is something I must do,
if I truly mean, "I love you."
My heart if broken,
it may not mend.
Is our life life now over?
Have we neared the end?
I hope not. I must employ
some good things for her to enjoy.

I wouldn't call her beautiful,
although some people do.
I would say she's lovely,
but not as lovely as you.
It is her heart; her caring way,
as she took care of you,
in her most loving way.

I search my mind.
I scratch and scribe,
upon the paper,
using my old hand,
as I pull forth,
some words, from out
the brackish water, mine.
I wish you well,
for now's the day,
to change your life,
while you are still
the wife I know,
who lives in this house,
morning, noon and night.
Stay close to me
for the care givers life,
is never over or done.

For want of love,
a life was lost.
For lack of love,
what is the cost?
Would you love someone
who is completely lost,
or flee the scene,
no matter the cost.

Do you remember
the hoot of an Owl?
Or the sound of breaking glass
when wrapped in a towel?
Unlike the Owl,
who calls out my name
of all the new pain
of losing your memories,
all over; once again.
The caw of the Crow
when it's time for a feed,
is all they want and need.
A songbird now sings
in a tree, over there,
a pleasant sound in the Summer air.

A shiver ran down my back.
It's been so long, I lost track.
What caused this rippling of nerve?
Is it a new feeling, I don't deserve?
A shiver of nerve, followed by this,
at a time in the World,
when I had my first kiss.

The wayward Sun, is like our Son,
full of music with a dose of passion,
for he has always been a guitar man.
An acoustical one, playing in his fashion.
Progressive Rock and Roll he says he plays.
Spending studio time to create a CD Action.
His musical talent, as he plays his songs,
brings forth a noise; to me a distraction,
but he loves it so, he will play
as his band becomes the latest music attraction.

How do you write about aging,
when you have gotten so old?
Do you write of mistakes you've made,
or tell all the tales, you were told,
as you wandered through life?
Down life's jagged path,
recalling the memories of your
checkered past. A part
of mundane events and mistakes.
Oh, it's time to leave,
as we take another break.