Clouds
• 04/27/23 at 08:57PM •Cumulous clouds,
floating up high.
Billowy, cotton pillows,
in the bluest sky.
Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.
Cumulous clouds,
floating up high.
Billowy, cotton pillows,
in the bluest sky.
What are these words,
which flow from my pen,
saying nothing by
day's end?
Work is hard,
difficult to do,
when my only thoughts
are about you.
Lost am I,
in life's morass.
Another day older,
when this day is past.
Where to run,
Where to hide?
I should be searching
far away, inside.
My head overflows
with thoughts, about you,
yet, here I am,
away, alone now, too
My head is clogged,
with too many words.
Nouns, verbs, adjectives,
and a bunch of adverbs.
Some paragraphs here,
a sentence or two.
The kaleidoscope of words,
belong in a word, letting zoo.
The land lay fallow,
no plowing to do.
We must replant,
in a year or two.
Tilling the soil,
after the long rest,
plowing and harrowing,
will work the best.
When the dew,
falls from the Rose,
the day will be warmer,
The Sun has rose.
When the grass,
is still wet,
the Sun isn't at
apex, hasn't set.
The wind will blow,
through, the trees,
as my Soul is
no longer at ease.
Why, in the World,
when everything is gone,
I'm on my way,
in the words of a song?
I wasn't first,
wasn't last.
Don't talk about
a forgotten past
You were young.
I was too old.
You weren't bashful,
I was too bold.
The errors we made
in a checkered past,
are not returning,
gone away, didn't last.
Would you walk, in the shadows
alongside of me,
if you lost your vision,
and could no longer, see?
You were seasoned,
you wouldn't talk.
Now I am the problem,
"New kid on the block."
Too few the words,
stuck in my head,
need to get creative
and go back to bed.
The lack of sleep is
taking its due.
I must take care,
if I am to care for you.
My eyes light up, as if
a beacon might do,
when I look,
finally seeing you.
You, I remember,
The best of all.
You I would die for,
if that was the call.
A small wind chime,
sways, in the tree,
hanging near buds,
blooming, to see.
The limb structures
of this old tree,
is craggy, rough,
but a pleasure to see.