Magazine Posts

I have to get, on my knees
And shout these words, into the trees.
Please keep, my true love from pain
And let her be, is my refrain.
Oh mighty God, who can be just,
Please help, before I turn to dust.

When does this life, we have known,
Become a burden; not ours to own?

The joys of life, are present now,
As love comes forth, to renew a vow.
A vow that is, important to me
And will result in, living life happily.

Knowing not, what to do or say,
Is just the start, of another day.
Another good start, of this marital bliss.
Could I have, a hug and kiss?

The sounds of children laughing,
Brings back fond memories,
Of the wonders of dancing
And learning of the birds and bees.

My love for you, does really matter,
While my heart, is about to shatter.

Friends will come and friends will go.
Friends arrive quickly and some are slow.
When a disease, strikes one so dear,
Some friendships, will gradually disappear.
Not all will go, as some will stay,
For those who don't,they go away.
My love for you, will always be,
From now to, the end of eternity.

I keep having this, very troubling thought.
What if who I am, I'm not?
My mind, that I thought was sound,
Has decided that memories, won't be found,
So I sit here, day after day,
Trying hard to, make my memories stay.

My dear Lord, in heaven above,
I pray for one I love.
Please help him, on this day
And control cancer, this I pray.

Writing can be, like a candles taper,
If words do not, go on paper.
The taper starts, small at the top,
As it burns, the wax will drop,
To the base of the candle stick,
Words fall like wax, from the wick.
Much like the words, I write today,
Some will stick, most will go away.

Of God and King and all others,
Everyone of us, are Sisters and Brothers.
Sometimes we are, like children at play,
We bicker and fight, on every day.
Children can be, such a selfish lot,
Some are kind and some are not.
The need for an adult, in the room,
To keep us safe, from impending doom.

The dormant grass, so ugly and brown,
Started it's greening, as rain falls down.
While the picture, of grass being dead,
Runs through, my old and weary head.
I should know better, not to fear,
That Natures power, the greening is near.
I must plant, new bulbs in September,
For Spring's bright display and to remember,
Colors that will, erupt from the bed
Of our yard, that looks very dead.