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Where stands the man
with a jaded past,
whose righteous ways,
when, the die was cast?

His ways were many,
they wouldn't last.
The sands of time,
passed by, too fast.

My loved one,
sent me away.
"I hate you,
leave, don't stay."

I understand She
doesn't say or know,
the words uttered,
but I will still go.

Words of sadness,
I hear in my ear,
as droplets
form into tears.

My emotions,
shot, as they are,
come from my eyes,
leaving no scar.

In my 40's,
I had a dream
of owning a sports car.
It came true,
a Fiat 124, Spyder,
color, French Blue.

He went West,
towards the rain.
He ached all over,
racked with pain.

Wait one minute,
let me explain,
at the worst it was,
an ankle sprain.

Acting up,
was his style.
Watching him,
made me smile.

I'm trying hard,
to break away.
To still see you,
in a less painful way.

It hurts, so much,
for nothing I do,
can keep my love,
away from you.

NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day:

Majestic on a truly cosmic scale, M100 is appropriately known as a grand design spiral galaxy. It is a large galaxy of over 100 billion stars with well-defined spiral arms that is similar to our own Milky Way Galaxy. One of the brightest members of the Virgo Cluster of galaxies, M100 (alias NGC 4321) is 56 million light-years distant toward the constellation of Berenice's Hair (Coma Berenices). This Hubble Space Telescope image of M100 was taken with the Wide Field Camera 3 and accentuates bright blue star clusters and intricate winding dust lanes which are hallmarks of this class of galaxies. Studies of variable stars in M100 have played an important role in determining the size and age of the Universe.

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When Worlds collide,
what will happen to,
all the broken pieces?
Is there enough glue?

Will there be litigation?
Who will we sue?
Be careful now,
it maybe you.

When will we know,
what must we do?
Perhaps eat a dinner
of vegetable stew.

May the goal,
you have today,
remain yours forever,
plus one more day.

My heart is broken,
I cannot weep,
for I must get,
a good night's sleep.

I write these words,
of meaningless trite,
as I lack talent,
it's what I write.