Magazine Posts

The Sun is out; light is bright.
Truly a most pleasant sight,
But soon the days, dimming light,
Precludes a glimpse of arriving night.
The night brings an endearing sound
Of crickets and frogs all around.
The music of this natural rhapsody,
Is meant for you as well as me.

When the memory fades and is lost,
Reminiscing is gone and then you must
Explain that we have been here before.
Many times, I say as I approach the door,
But there is no recognition. No more.
The pain I feel, cannot be heard
Nor described by written word.
I am saddened to hear and see
That we will not have a memory
Of enjoying lunch; just you and me.

The words that come to me
Do so, it seems, quite frequently.
Write I must, for all to see,
The struggle with my sanity.

The snap; the crackle of a fire,
A smell of smoke, stokes a desire
Of watching the flickering flame transpire.
Changing to red glowing ash and ember;
Thus bringing those last thoughts to remember.

Tips of bulbs push through the ground.
Through soil and mulch, without sound.
This is the beginning; a timing thing,
Heralding a preview of the coming Spring.

I must be dead, in your eyes.
No more whispers, no more sighs.
No more words, no good byes
And now I'm at my demise.
The love that once was there,
Has vanished now, into the air.
A sad lament, I must say.
I will learn to love another day.

Someone once said I was a handsome man.
That was before all the aging began.
The skin starts to sag, not just a little.
What once was my chest, is now my middle.
My back that was straight and erect,
Is bent like a straw and has an effect,
On the pain that I feel in the morn,
Makes me wonder, when I was born.

I've started a brand new therapy,
That is to drink most comfortably.
A glass of wine or two, may be
The treatment that works for me.
I prefer a Red, but White can be
A choice that I make openly.
Fourteen Hands, Hot To Trot, is you see,
What I prefer to support my sanity.

May the brightness of the moons, evening ride,
Find your life free of worry and eyes open wide.
For you are due the love from others, even more,
No matter what life's choices, lie before.

No one likes the uncertainty,
Of aging, sometimes not gracefully.
As we age, I must confess
Emotions can become a real mess.
What to do when this happens to you?
Persevere, keep going. That's what we do.

Life is tiring and that's for sure,
but we must push on and endure.
The beauty of words, I must sustain,
lest I be declared, completely insane.

Words flow from out my head,
some with love; some with dread.
I know not what is in store,
they just keep coming, more and more.
I wish I could tell you why.
I can't now but soon will try
to explain what words do to me,
when I am writing, it's then I see,
they awake my mind, an open door.
The words are written down on paper
but there is so much more.
A switch turns on; I'm out of bed,
to write the words but instead,
I'm left with being awake at five.
Thank you God, for my being alive.
Words come fast, fleeing to be free,
helping to rid myself of a memory.
Oh, Lord, please let peace be with me,
I need to sleep or is this my epiphany?
Here we go again, just once more,
words on paper, some on the floor.
Lively, descriptive words that I adore,
wiggling, flopping, asking for more.
Now the tide is slowing fast,
an oxymoron of my past.
I should say words, start to ebb.
If I were a computer I'd say web.
Well that was refreshing, for goodness sake.
Now I am so very much, wide awake.
A poor excuse for you to see,
about my life's uncertainty.
It's not a fear of dying for me,
but one of having to live, without thee.