Here, I sit,
• 04/30/24 at 06:11PM •Here I sit,
alone again,
waiting for the
phone to ring,
of word from you
and how you miss me.
I won't hold my breathe,
so don't worry, I'll be fine.
Here I sit,
alone again,
waiting for the
phone to ring,
of word from you
and how you miss me.
I won't hold my breathe,
so don't worry, I'll be fine.
What game is it,
we will play today,
which promotes friendship,
instead of running away?
Life is for living,
is what they say,
but who is they,
they will not stay,
to talk about
all the things we love,
but no longer do,
for they never move.
Pressed hard against,
a barren tree,
surprised by an,
evil adversary.
What type of evil,
must I fight,
to escape this foe,
in darkest night?
A Tiger's stripe,
with tail long,
would be replaced,
by a happy song.
Brain decline
has started now.
It's too bad, for I,
don't know how.
I have many words to write,
before I go,
to complete my list,
of what I know.
They're essential to,
what I write,
but sometimes may be,
just simply trite.
Expectations by others of how
we behave when interacting with others,
has influenced, in my mind, how we
think and stifles inquisitiveness.
If I enjoy living,
please tell me why,
I fight depression.
When I am happy,
no other person is happier
but when I am sad,
how depressing.
I must be a paradox,
to my friends,
those that I have.
Moods make the
personality, but we
are not supposed to be
moody.
Perhaps, we are not
supposed to have moods
but be even tempered or
mechanical.
Off the rail.
Off the wall.
Down the stairway,
Into the hall.
Echos, strange,
they are,
when heard up close,
or from afar.
A lonesome wind,
so cold, so hard,
blowing across,
the Courtyard.
With the Sun
and no more rain,
we will plant,
flowers again.
Flowers, with
colors bright,
ready for the,
first sunlight.
What happens,
when you think
what you've written,
is wasted ink?
I like to believe that once a thought is captured in writing, it is read, interpreted, admired, accepted, rejected or modified. As time passes, it may stand alone or it may combine with other thoughts. In either form it has the chance of becoming immortal.
Part of our life is handling the loss
of a loved one. There are many ways
not unique to myself. I wrote this, 6 years
ago. Prophetic, perhaps but my feeling
at the moment.
Oh, elusive love
Where are you now?
Where is your hiding place?
Can you be found
In the eyes of children
Or in the tinkling sound
Of their laughter
Or looking into crowded rooms,
Will I see you
In the face of a
Smiling stranger?
Humor must be in a place,
when we write of our emotions.
If not, are we human?
I've dreamt a dream of puzzling things
And found myself, aloft, without wings.
In this dream, my mind was a muddle
For my head was lying in a puddle,
At my feet.
The Sun set in the West,
as it was supposed to do.
Why are you here,
disputing that too?
You are a known liar,
no questioning you,
for the damage you've done,
harms all of us too.
May I tell you a story,
of a long time ago,
when myths were real,
and adventures were so,
fantastic to read,
let alone go,
to the end of the world,
for the big show.
An early time,
in the life of Man,
or all Humans,
you must understand.
A time of joy,
a time of strife,
when a husband,
searched for a new wife.
Not all woman,
are stronger than she,
but this lovely one,
was stronger than he.
Her strength, in numbers,
was the shape of her hand,
she caught all the tear drops,
which fell on this land.
(Continued)
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