When did this mystery arise?
Was there a new reason,
or the resurfacing of fear?
Why do all the questions,
pop into my warped mind?
Is there a new reason,
or is the problem, just mine?

Can a mind run dry of words?
It probably can, although it's not normal.
To stop writing? There isn't a clue,
so to this question, I answer,
"Please don't ask again as I am lost
and looking for an old friend."
Saying or writing this terrible line,
should make me humble, as I whine.
Please let me write, leave me be.
I have developed more love
of people like you.
Sorry, I can't help it for it is what
I do. Fickle? I suppose those words
describe this aged, old man
for I'm sure God has a plan, for
these rambling words of mine,
which flow over the land.
I may not know but you may
think on the subject and understand.

Her lips were red,
the color of cherries,
her eyes sparkled now.
The breath of her mouth,
was moist on your neck, bare,
as your heart was a flutter
and you thought of love,
with the soft music playing,
quite close and near,
was how it happened ,
when you a young lad,
hugged your first girl.
I hope it was then
and will happen once more,
before life is at end
with Death near the door.

If I'm cooking in our kitchen,
there will be no bitchen,
for this space belongs to me.
Don't mess with sauce cooking,
when I am not looking,
no adding salt to my gravy.

And there he was, plain as day,
with a 6 pack, in his hand,
asking a question, a smile on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Smith. Can Bobby come out to play?"

Long will I remember,
the sweetness of you.
When did it end?
I'm asking you now,
were they my words
or your new friend?
Please help me here,
this soul is bent.
My time on Earth,
relenting life to you,
is not the effort,
so goodbye and adieu.

Great rivers of hope,
flow to the Sea,
where the ebb and flow,
will always be.

Life is our river,
although we don't see,
how our personal actions,
and how they effect me.

May life's journey be long,
with partners like thee,
as our life becomes one,
and one becomes we.

There are stories written,
about the feathers, white.
What happened to the tales
of feathers, black as night?

Does life we know,
leave with a rush,
or go it's way
as wind and dust?

Please pay attention
to the words which I write,
for you may see a change,
gaining an advantage and insight
of my mind, as it wanders,
from source to another site.
Writing of things; making no sense
or sitting in the middle of the proverbial fence.
The path of this life's gone;
will not return here, anymore
for all of my writings
will lay on the floor,
waiting for someone to soon say
The end is over, he's gone away.

I awoke in the morning
my brow covered with sweat.
My nose has been runny
and my stomachs upset.
I hope what I caught
will pass quickly today
for whatever it is
I do not like.
My hair is disheveled.
Is this even a word?
For at any moment,
it is now absurd.
Back to bed now
as it's after 4
and I need to sleep.
Sleep, sleep, once more.

Helter Skelter.
Here and there,
words abound,
they're everywhere.
Some words, good,
others are not.
I should have
been a brave
soul, as this body
wastes away from age.
Life takes it's course,
of all I know.
Which isn't much,
compared to others,
in this strange life,
for I will sleep
a thousand times
before this life is done
and others in this
land of ours,
will enjoy the evening Sun.
Whew!
I feel better now,
so I suppose,
my work on this mess
is now done.