Yet, I delay,
receiving no comfort,
from retreating to
the lonely shadows,

or the deep corners
of my mind. Provide
me guidance, during
this time of questions.

Questioning how I
approach this mental
struggle has become,
my goal, my focus.

Live life to the fullest,
no matter what obstacles
are thrown in your path.
You're the master of
the ship and set the course.

You are the love,
of my miserable life.
I want you back,
as my beautiful wife.

I know at this time,
it will never happen, now.
I pray for guidance,
but love is here for thou.

Dark was the night,
pale was the Moon.
A burst of light,
which ended too soon.

Is it time to expunge,
those words, remaining inside,
or should I wait and
allow those words to hide,

inside my head,
where they will remain,
until their decay comes,
at the end of time?

I worry now,
but not my heart.
My life's incomplete,
when we are apart.

Choose your worry,
sharpened like a knife.
It's not about you,
it's about your ailing wife.

The wind sprays,
rain onto my face,
down my neck,
all over the place.

Attempting to plant
bulbs for Spring,
as they grow.
Oh, the colors they will bring.

It's time to purge the data,
from this old man's mind.
I'll work hard on the words,
and be truthful but not unkind.

All the words, jammed within
the aging, old man's brain,
will be truthful but sometimes
will border on insane.

Thoughts about memories of ours,
so many years ago
and all the joy they
brought about our life's show.

Separating all the assumptions
from the truth, at last,
made the years go by,
as quickly as our past.

The Sun rose slowly,
in the Eastern sky.
"No rain in sight",
was the well-known cry.

At last, we could
tape and paint,
the outside walls,
to a blue faint.

From out the crowd,
the Gates of Hell,
opened the door,
to Evermore.

Long was the time,
when it was fine.
Life was good,
though I did pine.

My heart is torn,
shredded now,
as it has gone away.
I still wonder how.

From far across,
the woods, so deep,
comes a person,
who cannot sleep.

He stays up late,
why? Who's to say.
He rises early
and starts his day.

How many hours
do you require,
to sleep the night,
but never tire?

"It's a hereditary thing",
he said to me,
"I don't need sleep,
because I'm not thee".

To sleep,
to dwell,
in slumber.
Know it well.

Four hours
of sleep,
shallow nap,
not deep.

Not good,
lacking sleep.
Slumber now,
life's creep.

The time has arrived,
yesterday became today,
it will soon be tomorrow,
a day of impending sorrow.