Why Are Words
• 01/23/23 at 11:08PM •Why are words,
so easy to write,
while all my thoughts
are extra tight?
Write, write, write,
make your thoughts clear.
Put them to paper,
let not the ink, smear.
Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.
Why are words,
so easy to write,
while all my thoughts
are extra tight?
Write, write, write,
make your thoughts clear.
Put them to paper,
let not the ink, smear.
You asked me to evaluate someone.
Here are my questions.
1) Are you happy?
2) Are you treated well.
3) Does he live with you?
4) Is he working?
5) Are you, his support?
6) Does he provide you emotional support?
Surround yourself, with successful women,
there are many and more minorities,
than you can imagine.
I cannot and will not tell you what to do.
That is up to you. God speed.
As the song says,
"Come play with me,
come play amongst the stars.
Let us see what life is like
on Jupiter or Mars."
Flying to the stars,
so far away,
leaving Earth, now,
loving you today.
Off in the distance,
seeing trees sway,
it's still raining,
a wet soggy day.
I expect it will be,
like the day before,
wearing your rain gear
before going out the door.
What manner,
is there today?
Unfriendly it is,
what can I say?
Sorry for your feeling,
sorry you are mad.
You set the tone,
now it is bad.
Staffing an issue,
wherever you go,
so, adjust to it,
service is slow.
Allow for more time,
is the watchword, today,
when staff call in,
leave or won't stay.
Guilt is a terrible thing,
as is the thought of abandonment.
I see my beloved. She has changed,
from a confident entity to one who
harbors some paranoia.
She has no concept of time and
doesn't know how long it has been,
since she last saw me.
She tells me she loves me,
ad infinitum, saying she wants to go
with me.
Keep climbing the ladder,
the ladder to success.
Keep your nose clean,
to be heaven blessed.
Treat people with civility,
good manners to others,
should be your pledge,
as your fathers and mothers.
Cracks in the windows,
dirt on the floor.
Hasn't been swept,
in a year or more.
Spiders in the corners,
house flies, on the sill.
Needs a good cleaning,
I suspect I will.
Not really a home,
not anymore,
it just sits vacant,
with space galore.
Words exist,
so we may say,
I love you more,
every day.
Love the laughter,
which I hear.
Love the smiles,
when they appear.
Love's the word,
which will appear,
when seeing one,
you love, so dear.
When left is right,
when being alone,
should right be left,
to come back home?
Crazy time,
when residents roam,
"Anyone have a car,
so, I can go home?"