Words rattling within
my head, slowly, quickly,
who is to say when
an adjective or adverb
gets in the way.
Suddenly he turned, 'twas
to end this story again
and over again for it was
stuck on the edge of reality,
mired in its own uselessness,
trying to use a word to rhyme.

Trip the light fantastic.
Trip is what you'll take,
to be here tomorrow,
no matter what it takes.

Life's precious moments,
gone in a flash.
Old before
you know it,
regrets you might have.

Memories, once important
are lost within your mind.
Trip the light fantastic
and you'll always be mine.

Today she
told me,
"Somethings wrong."
The first time
she's recognized
the illness.
Not by name,
but because
she couldn't
remember a
visitor from
an hour ago.
No concept
of time,
inaccuracy
of not knowing
who she visited
with, even
our oldest son.
The sadness
I feel and the
sadness I see
is going to be
our future.

Long were the curls,
on the nape
of the neck.
Brown, the color
with golden fleck.
Wind swept back,
as she ran by.
It was then
I caught her eye.
Where goes thou,
oh, beautiful one?
May I tag along,
as our day is done?
"Leave me alone,
old man, please
let me be."
'I'll do what I can,
it won't be with thee."

A blink of an eye
is all it took,
to ruin your day.
Inattention smothers
any relationship.
Life moves on,
as change, covers one
with confusion
and disappointment.
Creatures of habit
we are,
creatures of habit
we remain.

Clear are the memories,
in the back of my head.
Not fear, which is projected
with many words of dread.
Gone from her mind,
is what I see now,
no longer the one.
I loved her completely,
as I will continue to say,
for no matter her memory,
mine is here to stay.

Off the cliff,
he sprang
with glee.
He would
soon fly
and it
worried me.
He was
young and
foolish,
you see,
as most
young "Gulls"
are. Just
not you
or me.

Lay low
the land
below my feet.
Underground,
far below,
lay he, waiting,
to discover
a show,
under my feet,
not long ago.
Cross over
the bridge,
it's what
you should know.
To dance with
the Devil,
if your wish
is to grow.

Revisited

Her raven hair,
now beautiful grey,
moves me to tears,
when I hear her say,
"Who are you?"
"Why are you here?"
"Have we met before?"
quote my wife of 65 years.

Crimson the sky,
smoke of fire,
ash in the air,
stokes my desire,
to be alone,
thinking of you.

Just another break
in the sea.
A body of land,
large enough
for you and me.
Call it an Isle,
a place for
us to escape
and the
World to see.