Contributor Posts

I will write, songs of love
About you and me,
Thinking of heaven above
And my love for thee.
Someday, when time is there,
To revel in the past,
I will remember, your silver hair,
And how our marriage, did last.
Sixty years, is a long time,
For a union, such as ours.
It was never as sublime,
For it had it's bad time too,
And so I'll try to put to rhyme,
My words of love, for you.

Where are you, my love?
Why have you gone away?
Has your mind taken you,
To someplace you can play?
I know, these past few years
Have been, so hard, every single day
And every night, I do pray,
That your health will improve
And yet you worsen every day.

In the darkest hour
Of this long and dreary night,
Will I think about you
And want to hold you tight?

If I win this game today,
Must you also lose to I?
For we cannot play this way
And give up without a try.
Can you hear the words I say,
That desires to be free?
Oh, come now, you silly one,
Who chases life, this day,
So un-relentlessly .

I love you so, my little one
And hope that you, will soon agree.
So many days and years are done;
My wish is to stay near, thee.

To rhyme again, is not a crime,
Unless of course, it's one of mine.

There were times, not so long ago
When bells would ring, a mellow tone
And birds would sing, their sweet refrain.
Flowers blooms poked up, from the ground,
Without any utterance or nary a sound,
Of love.

Slap, slap, slap,
The very rhythmic sound
Of wiper blades, in action.
Dark clouds overhead,
Rain, pelting the windshield,
Bouncing off the roadway.
Fast moving automobiles,
Throwing spray from tires,
Reflecting lights from
Streetlights, up above.
Eerie lights and shadows,
Appear and disappear, quickly,
As the humming tires, make me sleepy.
Taillight's, bright reflections
Haloed, in the spray,
Brake lights, even brighter,
Cautions drivers to slow down.
Entering the city,
The softness, gives way
To a harsh, strong,
Structured, towers,
Erupting from the ground.

When day is done
And the moon has risen,
Will you please tell me,
I am forgiven?

Please give me a glass of wine
And soon, my words will be flowing
Down to the paper, for a showing,
Of exactly what I write, isn't slight
And can become, a little too trite.

Don't ask me to now succumb,
To logical and mundane issues, quite dumb,
For I ask not, that you understand,
My thoughts or words at my command.
You should see, by now, I can't
And may write more gibberish. I shan't.

A terrible thing, he said to me,
As I went to my bended knee,
Saying a prayer, for those in need,
Of salvation from Pele's huge lava feed.