Black is the color
of this moonless night.
Black is the heart,
when he takes flight.
Fear not the darkness,
welcome the fight.
Life will be better
at Dawn's first light.

Disparage me not,
you, my true love,
for I care for you.
That is my trove.

I sit, all hunched in the chair;
elbows on knees, hands to my head.
Worried now but still unaware
of all of the words, blue and red,
flying about through the Winter air.
Why is it I am not able to see,
the words to this life's mystery?

Drive your car through the water
with the tires breaking the surface,
of the waters, smooth as glass.
Write about your new adventure.
Do it now, while memories last.
Think about the new tomorrow,
by bringing back your old past.

The wind is blowing, from the South,
Grains of sand, attack my mouth,
Pulling the hood, atop my head,
I watch closely, to where I tread.
As I step on the un-firm sand,
I return, once more, to journeys end.

Care not for I,
as I say goodbye
to life's sweet sorrow.
Away it will fly,
to a better time,
on an evening nigh,
while all you do,
is sigh and sigh.

When Dawn's light shines through the pane.
When I mutter, "I slept in again."
I rise quickly, fast for me,
Before the daylight will flee,
For I have many tasks to do,
Before my next visit with you.

Barren the earth.
Cold is the night.
A bramble of branches,
Are naked in my sight.
The leaves are all gone.
They lay on the ground
as Song Birds sing
the most joyous sound.

I am not a poet,
I am not a bard,
for many of my writings
are actually quite hard.
So difficult to write,
not many but a few.
I will write for myself,
but do write for you.

A great tragedy,
A great loss.
What will it take
To get back on the Hoss.

The words are so many,
I write down a few.
How do I capture them,
When I think of you?
Words appear in a mass
of those I must undo,
to capture all the meaning.
It's what Poets will do.
Writing of words, over time,
searching for one or two,
finding words which will rhyme.
Words pouring out, so quickly,
those sublime, one more time.
Writings will fade, after ink
becomes old, with paper brittle,
thoughts now forgotten, they sink.
No one reads; very little
as I say now to you,
no matter the day it's
here now for my friend, you.

A rendezvous,
a short embrace,
another glimpse
of your face.
A mysterious look
in those eyes,
wasn't a guess
but a surmise.
Cut in half,
not a whole,
you have now
touched my soul.
A lost love
from long ago,
came from above.
Love is so
about the giving.
All I know.

I tire now.
My hand has a cramp
for writing these words,
has extinguished my lamp.

The choice of a word,
when there is a breeze,
makes all the difference,
if your wish is to please.

Here I am now,
I cannot foresee
what will happen
to an oldster like me.

I wanted to caress
her aching heart,
with many a hug,
would be my part,
but separation of 6 feet,
makes it difficult to do,
so a virtual hug
comes from my heart to you.

If what I write
or what I say
will make a difference,
when on your way,
I will, then rejoice
on this beautiful day.
I made a difference
and there it will stay.

There is a strange calmness, to me.
I grow depressed, thinking of thee,
Except at night, when we are alone,
Realizing your with me and at home.

No matter how near.
No matter how far.
You will always be
My brightest star.
For you bring love,
It's who you are,
The best in my life,
My brightest star.

No matter the season.
No matter the time,
I'll always remember you
A good friend of mine.