Forlorn my heart,
is to me,
a small look,
toward eternity
of loneliness.

Comes the Sun
after the cloud
has sheltered us,
in early morn

Did you miss me?
Did you know I was gone?
It now matters, not,
for my blues are in my song.

I miss you so much, my darling,
for me it's a new romance.
I miss you so much, my darling.
Why didn't you take a chance?
Long may the wind be at your back
and may the Lord bless you,
as you stay the course on life's "hack".

It's a glorious time,
as I write on this page.
It's a glorious time,
in spite of my rage.
My rage against a
disease, which is this cruel,
for there is no cure
and no medical tool.
Yet in this glorious life,
I'm here to support
my most beautiful wife.
She says she loves me,
many times, during the day,
with word so profound,
I could lose my way.
When going to bed,
I see in her eyes,
a pure love I wed,
no tears and no sighs.

Rain splatters,
bouncing into
a fine spray.
Freshening air,
night and day.
Liking the Sun,
as I do,
the ground
is dry and
I am
missing you.

May the God of fate and destiny,
grant you the blessing
you so justly deserve,
for you are the light,
you are the Soul
of my own fulfillment.
Life is good.
Life is short,
so please be wise
and do not abort.

Words flow, by my ear.
Not nice words,
none, which I wanted to hear.
Why are words hurtful,
when thrown by a tounge?
Words when used by
the old and the young.
No longer current
but still used
by quite a few.
When discovered,
it's nothing, just Adieu.

Fair winds, they blow
across meadows, wide
and late Spring snow
sliding down
the barren hill.
A whispering sound
of winds words urging
you to find shelter.

I awake,
words in
my head.
Write down
these words
before they
go away.
When they
are gone,
they're gone.
No matter
the need,
for they
will not
be there
for someone
to read.

Words pour out of this old head.
Many current, others from language dead.
Word flow is slow tonight.
Some days words appear rapidly.
I try to capture them, but hands
cramp when trying to write
in my notebook.
Words come without reason or
rhyme, which I prefer.
My mind is like a broken plow,
stuck in an old furrow, unable to
change direction. Inflexible?
or pre-occupied with other matters?
Who is to say? Writer's block?
Perhaps or just a mental staleness
that comes from existing in an
environment, not what I expected,
but which I chose to support my wife.

At dinner,
she sits across
from me.
I marvel at the
smoothness of her face.
All these years together
and I see her youthful
look. I know she has
aged, but so have I.
She is still the girl,
I married. She can no
longer care for herself
and resides in a Memory
Care Facility, since January 3rd,
of this year. I moved in to be
with her for support and
to provide closure on the
fear, she goes through every
day. If I am out of sight,
she will worry. She doesn't
need such issues as she
proceeds slowly toward,
full Alzheimer's.

When pain and sorrow,
attacks the heart.
When the emotions,
play a new part,
long live the joy,
you've felt today,
when taken in bits
it takes sorrow away.