Magazine Posts

Then the rains came, from the West
And soaked the ground, with out request.
The leaf's of yellow, gold and brown,
Will soon be falling, to the ground.
Raking and gathering, leaf's so sodden,
Make the best compost, for the garden.
This cycle of life and death, remain
To bring forth the beautiful flowers, again.

It is my charge,
To keep you
Safe and sound,
Every single day,
Until such time
That goes by
And your spirit,
Goes, far away.
Please dear God,
Help me today,
To be strong,
And stay my ills,
Until another day.

Do your eyes ever burn,
From shedding, too many tears?
I see your mental stumbles,
As you talk to me,
When you can't remember names
Of our friends, as readily.
When the names, of our children,
Are seldom spoken, by thee.
I dread that future day,
When you won't remember me.

When day is done, night's special wonder,
Makes one pause, to think and ponder.
For our life's fragility, on this day,
Should be reason, to start to pray.

When did this life, we know,
Start to decline, into the woe,
That became, our daily chore?
The answer does not, become more
But less and less, as we age,
Until we have, reached the final stage
Of life, with it's uncertainties,
That suddenly, bring us to our knees,
To pray, to our God above,
About the strength, of our only love.

If I could change, just one day,
I would remove and take pain away.
Remove the pain and all the sorrow
And have a much happier tomorrow.

The morning tide,
Brings a freshness,
Like a Summer rain.
The air, does clear
While the sunshine,
Brings a sweet refrain
And before we know,
It is morning, again.

If you don't like what I write,
That's okay,
As you have that, as your right,
Every day.
Sometimes, the words, that are so dear,
This way,
With some thoughts, are laced with fear.
I say,
Your personal input, is valued, by me,
This way.
And for that, I will always be,
What may.

Patience, has to be my friend,
As my face, must still pretend
That all, is well for me,
Showing not to you, my agony,
Of watching, this life of ours,
Fade from view, like wilted flowers.

This life we have, was not intended,
To be like clothing, needing to be mended
But, here we are, with life extended,
Trying to live the life, we pretended.

A bright, sunny day.
A very cold night,
Brings forth, new colors,
To brighten the light.
The color of trees
With leaves so bright,
Brings to our eyes,
A beautiful sight.

Is there a place, I can be,
That lets me live, with my memory,
Of those days, gone by, so readily?