Burning the candle
at both ends,
should not be a game
of let's pretend.
Make your best choice.
Don't change your mind,
you can now rejoice.
Happiness you'll find.

Glowed red
the ridge,
as sun rise
came.
My last
viewing was
somewhat the
same.
Where has
love gone?
Away from
me now,
please tell
me, please
for I know
not how,
to approach
a stranger,
a girl
in my
dreams,
who I
will see,
again or
perhaps
never to
be seen
again.

Words written now,
transform into glass,
no matter the lies,
the truth may not pass.

Inflation is high,
blame corporate greed,
as company profits rose,
costing all in need.

Back in history now,
time to manage the seed,
for raising prices hurts
consumers. Indeed.

Lay all the words
down, on a line.
In order doesn't matter,
unless you want to rhyme.
Writing a narrative,
in poetic prose,
puts forth the words,
as if, growing a rose.
Using "poetic license"
is a good way to write,
as you can suppress rules,
from some wrong to right.

No longer the worry,
No longer the care,
No longer the hurry,
Now just despair.

The Simon and Garfunkel lyrics,
"Slip, Sliding Away" is how
I describe my wife's journey
from Early Onset Dementia,
into the perils of Alzheimer's.
A person of intelligence, who
cannot/does not know the name
of any item. As a result,
she does not respond to any
issue or direction. A small child
who doesn't remember from
day to day or minute to minute.
Her inability to cope with daily
routines is difficult as she
does not remember where she
is, where rooms are or the
fixtures which are essential
for her daily needs.
She no longer acknowledges
she has this diagnosis. She did
understand in the beginning,'
January 2017 diagnosis, of Dementia.

Red, rode the waves.
It was ridden hard.
Keep your deeds close,
remove the hidden card.
Peel off the caves,
remember the word.
"Don't believe others"
not even those read,
stay loose with life,
no matter your choice.
Do the right thing,
then you can rejoice.
Fret not about others,
or the words which
they write or the lies
which you will hear
every day and all night.
Be your own master
in the field which you love
and avoid others who
attack from above.
My brain is addled,
I no longer know
what to do, except
think of others.
Others like you.

Write words of tomorrow,
about your future days.
Write not of sorrow,
write to the reader,
about what works for you.
Show them why you must
write and edit too.

Break away from the crowd.
Go on your own.
Look for opportunities,
you may do alone,
or find you another,
to spend time with you.
It will be exciting,
whatever you do.

The light,
the shadows,
meld into grey,
A colorless spot,
in a once colorful array.

How grey the morning.
How bright the day.
It won't be the same
When you've gone away.

From dusk to dawn,
across mountain and plain,
in search of my love,
to be with her again.