Magazine Posts

There are hazards of this life's longevity,
That shortens the time, left to be.
A factor in the mortal life of ours.
Make your amends to friends and see
That the length of life, depends upon thee.

Have you had a dream without you there?
Looking for something, that you're not aware?
Some say it's a hidden message of a love
From someone not here, but is up above,
In the heavens, as God's favored child.
If that is true, wouldn't that be wild?

For a want of life
and freedom too,
I must do what
I must do.
Cross the border
to get away,
from the threat of death
and my children's starvation,
by coming to this country
for a precious education.
Is this wrong? Yes it is,
but a better life is what I seek.
I work hard for what I do,
so hate me not, as I try to stay
in this great country, the U. S of A.

haven't posted in a while ... Hello from Maine!

There is a beast in everyone,
There is a beast in me.
Most people control their own
And do not set it Free.

I run, I seek, but cannot find
the key to this heart of mine.

That loveliest of smiles,
That cute, silly grin,
The love that I see,
Coming from within.

You walk with grace,
No matter the time,
So I must say,
Wherever the place,
The love I feel
Will be set in space.

Thus, you my friend,
That's what you are,
A beacon of light;
The shiniest; a star.

You listen to me
As I relate my fear
And comfort is brought,
By your being near.

Dear heart, please stay,
Bring me your strength,
To face every day
With grace from God,
Will keep fear away.

My wife loves these flowers

In this darkest hollow of my mind,
I find myself, lost and alone,
Nevermore to see my love.
The way she was, when we were young,
Why her? I ask these words
As the absurdity of this disease is
Fraught with frustration of knowing not,
What to do when the mind moves away,
From our Mortal being.

I hear these words, in my head.
"It's 4 AM, go back to bed.

From stubby stem
to a bud, I suppose
it grows into a Rose.
Through the Spring,
as the Summer goes,
now it is
an aging Rose.
Time will pass again
through Winter's cold,
and I do suppose,
There will be a Rose.