Magazine Posts

Who writes this tripe,
must have zero memory,
for I don't recall,
anything resembling me.
Me, with my EGO,
inflated like a dime store
balloon, leaking air;
will deflate quite soon.
Please help me now, I'm begging
you. Oh please, I will
pray for all I must appease
the writing spirits at the top of
the stair. The spirit of life
is everywhere. Go now from me.
Please let me be, for the loss
of one close, is what I do see.
I pray for your spirit, every night
of my life and will pray again
for my friends and my wife.
My family and friends are loved
by me. Please dear Lord, I pray;
let them stay here with me.

I am seeing more changes
of my wife and my bride,
as she no longer remembers
the rooms of our house, inside.
No concept of time,
nor of what it can be
and yet, in bed at night,
the conversation is utter delight.
She'll snuggle, to get close to me
and talk about nothing,
I know or can see.
How long will this last?
I have nary a clue,
but here I am now
and I'm devoted to you.

I'm no longer a believer,
in life's fairness, of what I see,
when the cruelest disease can be,
a Dementia which attacks your mental state,
for who do I pray to, when I am so irate?

I remember the glory,
as I recall from my side,
when I jumped on
my horse; sitting astride.
It was a time
for the Carousel Ride.
The Merry Go Round,
and how I tried
getting a black horse,
with saddle so wide,
for it was the Summer
of the Carousel Ride.

It's three AM
and here I am,
a very tired;
tired old man.
Why can't I sleep,
through another long night,
as I sit and scribe
all these words, so trite.
Writing of a sadness,
is what I now do,
as I think of my friends,
like you and like you.
Is it worth it,
having a sleepless night,
while writing these words,
with no plan in sight?
I hope it is, I really do
for I write for me
and I write for you.

When I write about words
laying culled on the floor,
it is a mental image
and means nothing more.
There is nothing more,
nothing more, instead,
the words are those still
lodged in this old head.
My heart will pull forth,
words when I write,
with little of my malice
as I'm not always right.

You promised to love me,
to honor and to obey,
but no one said anything
about your going away.
You cannot leave me,
here, unhappy and alone,
when you were my first love,
who I've always known,
and yet, here, I am the same,
still being near to you,
though you don't remember my name.

I cannot describe what goes through my mind,
when I ask you for something, you cannot find.
It's sitting near you; in front on the floor,
but you don't know the name; never, no more.

From the back corners
of this constrained mind,
comes old memories,
entwined with cobwebs
and brain dust, in all
the nooks and crannies.
Being on the narrow edge
of my own insanity.
This mind is cluttered,
words need to be
scraped free from views
of long, past positions,
to update the way
and think of love.
Don't dwell on the hate.
Re-use the words.
Find a new way
to continue your writing
and say, my life is better
at least on this day.

Time to arise
and prepare a new dance,
as we approach the beginning
of a brand new romance.
Another beautiful, lovely day,
with a clear sky,
later today.

The words which I write on paper for you,
can come easy. On other days hard to do.
My mind runs in circles and colors of blue,
Red, Brown, Green and Yellow to name a few..
When I write, I have no thought in mind,
for I write the words; words which will rhyme.
I wish I could tell you my feelings today,
but the words fall to paper; that's where they lay.

I must get away soon,
to the Ocean, I go
and smell the salty air,
taking in a new show.
To feel the sand under
my feet, then I'll know,
when I bask in the Sun
and feel the wind blow.