Magazine Posts

When you love another,
what do you do?
Love is a four letter word,
best taken with great trust,
not an emotion coated with rust.

Running on empty
is my emotional life,
as I expend the fuel
helping my wife.
Conversations we have,
I do not understand,
for her evening behavior,
is no longer grand.

When Moonlight passes by.
When there are no clouds in the sky,
I'll remember you.
No matter where I go,
No matter where you are,
I'll remember you.
For nothing is this World,
Sets my heart a swirl.
I'll remember you.
Forever and a day,
What ever comes this way,
I'll remember you.
When my heart breaks in two.
When there is nothing I can do,
I'll remember you.

When weird things happen, in early night.
When crazy talk, comes from your wife.
When she admits, she knows not why,
she doesn't cry; doesn't cry.
Why does she say she doesn't belong,
here with me, in this house ours.
Sun downing can be a terrible sight,
raising the hackles on this neck, mine.
I am here, now alone, in this time.

A love lost.
Friends gone away,
as we await
the Judgement Day.

The flashing rays of sunlight,
splash across the window pane,
as another day, bids adieu,
in this life of human pain.
So many in the World, are now
gone on this new Spring day,
for the Virus came to visit
and took our loved ones away.

From deep within
this lost soul of mine,
arises the fear
of being unaware;
compromise of course.
A word we do not use
to improve the lives
of our fellow man
or become, the rule,
for our law today,
ignored by some
to hate or be,
the dregs of this
unfair economy.

My mind is gone,
so I won't pretend,
and now await
my life to end.
I no longer have,
patience or desire,
for my life is over,
no more the fire.

What will this new day bring?
The sight of new flowers,
in this cold, cold Spring.
The coldest days
in one hundred twenty-five years,
brings forth the hurt,
brings forth the fears.
Stop the Virus now! Today.
Before civilization goes away.

Be not the day,
be not the night,
when the words,
do not come,
with any rhyme.

The ink doth flow
from out the pen,
to the paper yet
again and becomes
the words, which I write.
Not profound, perhaps trite.
Words are coming,
from my mind.
Words of truth
from memories, mine.
Where to go, please tell me now
for I miss the life,
we once did live.
Not the one be have
today, where most of
your memory has gone away.
Gone from here. I don't know why,
but what a loss it is
and a terrible way to say goodbye.

When the words in your head,
bunch up; all jumbled inside
and you discover your thoughts,
have taken a new path,
what is it you do?
When does your mind flee?
If your Psych doesn't or cannot
run free as the West wind;
no place to go. What is
the option? There is not
a clear path, for me to ponder
or to think it's divine,
as the World, coils around you
like a snake all serpentine.