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Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.

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A one hit wonder,
is that what you are?
Surrounded by fans,
both near and far.

Your rise to fame,
your being a star,
is remarkable now,
when seen from afar.

The most beautiful women,
the fanciest car.
we now know you
are a Rising Star.

Sometimes I sleep "The Sleep of the Dead"
with no thoughts or dreams in my head.
An absence of words, so deep inside
stay within my head; are trying to hide.
When I awake from this stupor so deep,
I then know what it is like to sleep.
Unlike the times I get up at three
as the words in my head will remind me,
scribe down to paper, in my notebook,
the words that appear haven't been forsook.
Later that morning, I'll re-read the words,
striking out those are simply absurd.

I wish I could see,
what she does,
through her brown eyes.
I can't, so therefor
I now must surmise.
She see's something else,
that she cannot describe,
which frustrates her, every way.
This disease is so cruel,
for her to live every day.
It is why she tells me
"I will soon be going away."

I hear it again,
I hear it now.
Telling me words,
Telling me how.
Letting me know,
How very absurd,
When letting go,
Of this place,
It is very nice,
In being seen.
Where ever I go,
I know you,
Can't you see,
That knowing who,
It must be,
I love you,
Do you love me?

Laying in bed, words all a jumble;
I'm not writing them down,
for I will not tumble,
into this pit of worry
or feeling sorry for me.
Oh dear God, help me out of this mess
of seeing my beloved, slipping away.
What can I do, on this miserable day?
My love for her is still there;
She knows me not, I'll not despair,
for I know her and always will.
My love for her gives me a thrill.
I know these words, corny they are,
but they're my words, they surely are.

Into the night with
darkest of sky,
he waited patiently for
the Moon to pass by.
The brightness, came slow
and gradually.
He could see where to
step, walking gingerly.
Trying to be quiet so he
wouldn't be heard.
Creeping so closely to
that elusive bird.
One that is a beauty,
known all around.
This was the place where
it could be found.
The colorful feathers reminded
him of you,
when in pursuit of the elusive,
beautiful, Cockatoo.

Shades of Shale,
a flat type
of volcanic rock,
that would slide
down the hill
where ever you walked.
Yards of rock,
on a side hill,
careful to be
on Nature's spill.
Take one step,
balance a must,
shale will slide,
gliding on dust.
Down the hill,
so carefully,
learning to walk
or how to ski.
Noisy it was,
a rattling sound,
frightening the animals
who were still around.

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