Magazine Posts

Volumes of noise,
from the voices of thousands,
echoes in the concrete chamber,
overpowering the sound
of vendors, hawking beer.
Banks of lights,
cast their false sunlight,
on artificial grass,
as players, run swiftly,
without shadows.

Will I understand
my thoughts
of today,
better when
sunrise starts
the morrow?
Or looking with
a backward glance,
think and ponder
of the dreams
of yesterday, or
simply wonder?
Does it matter,
what I think
or if my contribution,
is left, unread
and it's never said,
that he loved life,
just for living?
Does it matter?

Tender words, pass in the night,
between strangers,
telling of their loneliness.
Seeking companions for the evening.
Many will find and elusive happiness
but most will remain lonely,
left alone, with their only friend,
themselves.

Life is like a tunnel.
In the beginning, darkness.
Darkness, with faint light,
in the distance.
As we travel, the light brightens.
Suddenly, all is brightness and noise.
Such must be the
feeling of life,
in the beginning,
at birth.

Some day, I'll find my place,
surrounded by loneliness,
quiet solitude will abound,
with no interruptions,
no worries, no cares.
There is such a place,
but I'm not ready for,
the cold, dank ground.

The warmth of love
comes from the soul,
gushing forth, through
words, soft spoken,
spraying outward
through peoples eyes.
Loves sweet presence
goes unheard,
goes unseen,
without a sound,
if people, the living,
are indifferent.

At long last, winter
and it's dreary days
with rain falling
through this cold, haze
is over.
I lie awake and ponder
what will the future bring,
not knowing,
not caring,
for anything.
Some day soon, you and I,
will be gone from here,
with no goodbye.

My mind is filled with clutter
like the top of someone's desk.
Do you suppose or I propose,
please don't call me today.
It's meeting time,
go stand in line
and hurry up!
But wait!
Go get in line
one more time,
as if we're all darn sheep.

Pollution is in everything,
we eat, breathe, drink,
hear and see.
Keep in mind the
things we do,
on every working day,
like filing words on paper
with thoughts that are past.
It would be nice to
be with you
or even run away,
to some forgotten,
Native place
where all adults
can play
while children work
to support the rich
and you and I
can stay
and spend a happy
hour or two
and never go away
from each other.
For friends are welcome
all the time.

I told you my mind was
a clutter,
I just didn't say,
I would utter,
all these thoughts
to thee.

There are times when I could
stand for hours,
looking at your lovely face
or the way your hair lies
sculptured neatly, right in place,
above your ears.

Tomorrow lies awaiting,
it's a bright and cheerful day,
no gloom or forbidden thinking,
no anger, no price to pay.
It depends upon your wishes
and those who intend to play,
for joy and love surrounds you,
on each and every day.

While travelling on distant paths,
I met a man like me,
who was searching for a
brand new world
and trying to be free.

This man was old and couldn't see,
what laid beyond the bend
and he asked me, very graciously,
if I would be his friend.
As we wandered down the path
of life's rough and rocky shore,
I didn't like his manner
and found him quite the bore,
at least he was to me.

He loves or hates most people
but mostly he doesn't trust
because he's insecure.
He criticizes quite freely
and never lets you be.
I knew I didn't like him
when I found out he was me.

When the days of life
draw near the end
and the light within
begins to dim,
when the breath of
those,
who live today, draws short
while the body withers
and dies.
Will you remember
the times that were
and of the love we had?