A golden, yellow curve entwines,
amongst the Tulip petals.
Tulip flowers; the delicate curve
of a Lover's breast, standing
with stems erect, as if in prayer,
as they genuflect among
the grey-green altar leaves.
Long is the beauty, visions to be
of Spring flowers, showing their
wares against the Grape Hyacinth
and golden Daffodils.

The Moon is ashine,
beams sifting
through the clouds below.
A silver color; a fine wine,
reflects on all it touches,
for the Worlds to see.
A night without a Moon,
is not where I will be.

I rise in the morning.
I am still half asleep.
I must begin moving.
I have promises to keep.

Life is like a sheep's,
lost deep in the herd.
Deep in the crowd,
a voice won't be heard.
Speak out now, for you must,
as the time will pass by
and our thoughts will be dust.

Where are the words
stuck in my head?
Why are they missing?
Is this a new process,
something I should dread
or is it a reason,
these words shouldn't be said;
not put to paper,
where they can be read?

Words, words, words.
Ah the wonders,
we read today,
as others will write
of the mood
now in play.
Tell me please,
what can be done,
so we can appease,
the hate of another,
who looks not
like me?

How wide the road,
how narrow the trail,
when the Pony Express,
delivered the U. S. Mail.

At the end of the street of broken dreams,
awaits the fate of this life's scene.
The end of the road; the end of time.
It will be the last Auld Lang Sine.

Watered down words,
was what I heard.
A "white" lie,
bordering on absurd.
Vaccines for all.
Do it soon,
on April 15
before it's noon.

The Moon, Sentinel of the night sky,
peers through the trees,
spraying its beams,
across the dark earth.
The Moon hangs high,
reflecting second hand Sun,
brightening the lives
of all who can see,
guarding the World
while we sleep.

My heart is aching.
My limbs are sore.
If I awake and
find you gone, will
I want to continue on?
Not for me to decide,
as I am only here
for this short, short ride.

Never more. Never again
will I tell you
I have an ear to lend.