Magazine Posts

My eyes are closed.
The void is black.
My arms are numb.
I've lost track,
Of the place I'm in.
I cannot say why,
But I suspect that
I'm about to die.
I hope I'm wrong,
But won't say goodbye,
For now I know,
As I let out a sigh.

For all that I know,
Which isn't much,
Tomorrow, the Sun will glow
And as such,
The weather, soon will go
To provide rain to touch.

I read an article that said to set aside a time for the words in our head.
That will allow one to create, the long string of words and then you
could relate, those words down to paper or put on a tape.
The danger, she said, was without a special time you would lose
that ability to write the words that bring tranquility.
Is she right? I don't know. Time will tell, is what I say,
so we or I will start counting today.
I appreciate all of the likes or comments as it prompts me to write.

A bird flew down landing next to me.
Perhaps it thought I was a tree.
Or if you believe in reincarnation
Could be a relative wanting confrontation.
I'll never know, as it flew away
Perhaps to return on a Summer day.

Walking on the far side of sanity,
When you are on the edge
Or rim of mental confusion.
Pay attention, as your body may be
Telling your brain to "Listen Up",
For there could be trouble brewing.
No threats, just a simple physical response.
Nervous tic? You never know.
Action is needed to remove or lessen
The stress and emotional state.
Beware my friends, before it's too late.

The wind comes in short, little bursts
A Sun bathed yard and flowers thirst.
For this, usually the wettest of Spring
Is now waiting, for the rain to bring.

Swirling wind
Dried leaves dancing
Spring

I stumble and fall, letting out a scream
But then I'm awake, just a bad dream.
Getting up, showering, combing my hair
I look into the mirror and I see
Someone who appears to be ready for tea.
To the kitchen I go, so very silently
For my wife is abed, still resting quietly.

There is still time in this life
For all of us to soon see
A return of love for our humanity.

A veiling of words, I have used before,
If not quickly written, will be on the floor
Of my mind and will never more
Be seen as this random scribble, I write
Makes sense to others or is quite trite.

I sit here and recall the years past
The youthful time that did not last.
My Mother said, she altered my pants;
Taking them in at the waist, did enhance
Until back pockets touched. Laughing at this
And that memory today, as that is
No longer a problem for me.

A thread of words, comes from my heart,
Up to the mind, which tears them apart.
Sending them down to my hands, to start
Writing the emotional barbs, I'm feeling now
Of expressing myself, if I only knew how.