Contributor Posts

The rain is back, I won't complain,
For the soil was parched, beyond belief.
So thank you for all the windy rain
And the flowers are sighing from relief.

A time to live,
A time to die.
A time for us,
For the long goodbye.

The wind was cold, on this day,
Swirling, gusts filled with white
Blossoms, from flowering trees,
That line the parking strip,
Outside Redmond Urgent Care.

Of moonlight and a rose
when you can suppose
about the life that you've led
without any dread.
No wonder, they'll say,
when you've gone away,
about the way you ran
and the type of a man
that cared for others,
both Sisters and brothers.

Words can be the most beautiful thing.
Their use, can make a heart sing,
But they can also cause, much pain
And a hurt, that will always remain.
Using words, should be about truth,
Not full of disdain, lying or uncouth.
Words, used in a sonnet, professing love
Is usually the best way, far and above,
Those utterances of hate and disdain,
When one hears a lie after lie refrain.
The changing of seasons, across Worlds wide
Describing the colors of Sunsets to remember,
Or the harshness of the month, December.
Only words can describe how we feel
Or what in life, is falsely surreal.
Words describe the beauty, that we see
And the feelings of love, that I have for thee.

The days grow long, as do I.
The dreams of yesterday, have gone by.
No longer the dreams to be.
Now gone, once more, for eternity.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Spring begins that time of the year
When bulbs and perennials, begin to appear.
The first was an Iris, so very small,
Followed by tiny Daffodils, more tall.
Then came tall Daffodils, Hyacinths too,
With the scent that can over power you.
Waiting now for the Tulips to bloom
Pulling up colors to brighten the gloom,
As we recover from Winter, so readily
One of the worst, we ever did see.
Welcome back to the bursting of Spring;
Welcome back all birds, that sing.