Contributor Posts

A long dark night into day,
I worry for American every way.

I tire of doing this writing craft,
for in my life, I am feeling daft.
Daft in the head, we would say;
It's the way I feel, every day.
Perhaps it's because words cause me pain.
Wishing to do better and not complain.
I tire of words, from the dirt,
for when I write them, they hurt.
Hurt others I care so much about,
for I want to scream and shout,
"Enough, enough, is what I say,
there's hate in this Country, every day."

The past few days, have been wild.
I am living with an elderly child.
A child; my loved one I see,
Who asks all these questions of me.
Did you know my parents, I had?
I have nothing. No Mom or Dad.
She knows we have friends, I recall
But doesn't know names, not at all.
She remembers our granddaughter, by name,
For all others, it's not the same.

When your loved one, says to thee,
"I don't have any of my family.
My parents are gone and I see,
You no longer like much of me."
I then explain about our history.
Words fly past and then I see
She no longer remembers me.

Are you here? Are you awake.
How many questions will it take
before the realization, of what she said
will lodge into the empty head.
Empty of our life and friends.
I cannot thank God. I can't pretend,
not liking what life has done to she
and where in this life, she will still be.

As I sit, with pen in hand,
I must say, with no remand,
of writing two works, recently
as I sat in front of the
computer, writing quite freely.
Why do words, which I love
come easily from my trove
of words bouncing in my head?
Where is the senseless prose,
now taking me? I wish to know.
Let me be, o fate of mine,
I love all my friends, for sure
and hope my distant love
will last long and endure.

When she says to me,
"Here, I don't belong.
please, it is time,
to go to the Home."
My words to her,
do resound,
as I want her
near and around,
so I can care for her,
as long as I can.
My troth is to you,
but you don't understand.

Awakening, I hear the rain,
Rattling against the window pane.
The air has freshened, once again,
No more smoke, is the refrain.

Be the courage. Be the man.
Do the things, I know you can.
Keep the bully boy at bay.
Deflate his ego. It's the way
to see him quiver in the dust,
as his oiled machinery turns to rust.

If you like or dislike
the words I now write,
tell me so, for I am
in a mental plight.
Do I stay here now,
or should I take flight?

There are no thoughts,
as there isn't time
for words I write
and try to rhyme.

The words spiraling from my head
are the words I chose but instead
of words, full of hate and fury,
reminding me I'm not the jury.
If not caring for a spiteful life,
I look and see my lovely wife.
This life has been hard for she,
there's no understanding of what's to be.