Magazine Posts

Long will I wonder,
how long it will last,
the perennial question,
which haunts my past.
Don't wish for tomorrow,
please enjoy this day,
for the joy of this moment
will soon go away.
The friends of your youth,
are no longer here.
They have left this place,
but their spirits are near.
Enjoy your friendships,
as we always should do,
for the future of tomorrow,
depends upon you.

I've lost control,
of this stage of life,
seeing the damage Dementia
has done to my wife.
There are lucid moments,
in day time and night,
but there is a weirdness,
when Sundown takes flight.
Wandering the house,
as a stranger would do.
Please help me Lord,
as my answers are few.

I think of you often,
for you are my wife.
I am so sorry now,
for this version of life.
You do not deserve this,
nor does anyone else,
a miserable existence,
not good for your health.

I am now awake,
it's a brand new day.
The Sun will be up,
troubles gone away,
except it's not true
for me to say,
for Dementia is here.
Here it will stay.

I would like to explain,
the feelings I have,
when I write these words,
so you will understand.
The relief, once again
putting to paper with
my ink and pen;
typing the words, written here,
will on Kudo's appear.
Why is it so important to me,
for you readers to see
a very small glimpse
of who I might be?
Leave it alone, once was said,
but I favor the Beatles
who wrote "Let It Be" and it was read.

I rise in the morning.
I am still half asleep.
I must begin moving.
I have promises to keep.

Where are the words
stuck in my head?
Why are they missing?
Is this a new process,
something I should dread
or is it a reason,
these words shouldn't be said;
not put to paper,
where they can be read?

Words, words, words.
Ah the wonders,
we read today,
as others will write
of the mood
now in play.
Tell me please,
what can be done,
so we can appease,
the hate of another,
who looks not
like me?

At the end of the street of broken dreams,
awaits the fate of this life's scene.
The end of the road; the end of time.
It will be the last Auld Lang Sine.

The Moon, Sentinel of the night sky,
peers through the trees,
spraying its beams,
across the dark earth.
The Moon hangs high,
reflecting second hand Sun,
brightening the lives
of all who can see,
guarding the World
while we sleep.

My heart is aching.
My limbs are sore.
If I awake and
find you gone, will
I want to continue on?
Not for me to decide,
as I am only here
for this short, short ride.

My love for you
is still burning bright,
even when you wake me
in the middle of the night.