I love the noise
of waves, a crash.
The smell of air,
with a salty taste;
The feel of cold
sand beneath my feet;
The cries of Seagulls,
in aerial flight,
as Sunlight brings
the shore alive.

I'm alone in the dark,
years before cell phones.
A small flashlight,
it's called a "pen",
for it resembles,
the instrument
of its name.
Not much light
but I can still see,
the small patch
of ground, near my feet.
Not much help,
not to me,
but anything will do,
at a quarter to three.

I stood there looking at thee.
I watched you but couldn't see,
For I was lost in my reverie,
What has now happened to me?

Long will I wonder,
how long it will last,
the perennial question,
which haunts my past.
Don't wish for tomorrow,
please enjoy this day,
for the joy of this moment
will soon go away.
The friends of your youth,
are no longer here.
They have left this place,
but their spirits are near.
Enjoy your friendships,
as we always should do,
for the future of tomorrow,
depends upon you.

I've lost control,
of this stage of life,
seeing the damage Dementia
has done to my wife.
There are lucid moments,
in day time and night,
but there is a weirdness,
when Sundown takes flight.
Wandering the house,
as a stranger would do.
Please help me Lord,
as my answers are few.

I think of you often,
for you are my wife.
I am so sorry now,
for this version of life.
You do not deserve this,
nor does anyone else,
a miserable existence,
not good for your health.

A fence line, with crooked rail atop,
wanders across the valley scene.
Dividing the land for all to see
and stop the livestock from
wandering away. The wood is weathered ,
a colored grey, with flecks of moss
and lichen, on the shady side of the posts.
The post is used as a perch for
all the birds, as they sit and search,
for the meal they seek; to keep clear
of starvation; to stay strong
and reduce the weak.
Fly away. Fly away now,
flapping your wings
as only you know how.

He was a small little rodent,
so much smaller than I,
who had made the decision,
he wanted to fly.
To be free from this earth;
so he could fly every day.
He would climb up the tree,
the highest, he would say,
leap from the shaky limb
and would be on his way.
He began climbing the tallest,
the highest he found,
leaping from the branches,
he fell to the ground.
Luck was with him,
on this, his luckiest night,
as he soon discovered,
on this first solo flight.
A few branches, on his way down,
had impeded his falling;
he became the talk of the town.
Be careful what you wish for.
Be careful what you say,
for when you leap from a branch,
it may not be your day.

I am now awake,
it's a brand new day.
The Sun will be up,
troubles gone away,
except it's not true
for me to say,
for Dementia is here.
Here it will stay.

I would like to explain,
the feelings I have,
when I write these words,
so you will understand.
The relief, once again
putting to paper with
my ink and pen;
typing the words, written here,
will on Kudo's appear.
Why is it so important to me,
for you readers to see
a very small glimpse
of who I might be?
Leave it alone, once was said,
but I favor the Beatles
who wrote "Let It Be" and it was read.