For hours he fought.
Four hours he thought.
For ever the light.
Foremost the sight.
Forlorn on this day.
Forgotten, I can say.

At Last!
Four years, now past.
Four years of infamy.
Four years of pain and sorrow.
Four years of racial rhetoric.
Four years of mental sickness.

When I write down
the words,
those in my mind,
I know.
There must be a reason.
A reason
of some special kind,
but I
cannot bring them forth.
How unkind.

Please let me know,
if I do my part
and if my words
touch your heart.
I hope they do,
for it is my pleasure
to entertain you.

This love, for doing the writing craft,
is what I enjoy. Is that daft?
I hope it is not, it's very true,
for writing words, is what I do.
Some words are good, some are bad,
others are happy and then there is sad.
No matter the mood, nor the time
I will always try to make them rhyme.

A path between good and evil,
winds through the conscious mind.
A direction, taken in error
may be a detriment to mankind.
What evil lies, in the hearts of men,
who care not about the lives they see,
resulting in a lack of common decency?

This is the time of the year
I like least
for I see the new growth and
the Frost Beast
rears it's ugly head to freeze
and to feast
on the new growth of my plants
tender at least.

No more the evening napping,
or the crowds of people clapping,
as I left my home on the shore,
of the clear water of Lake Lenore.
(to be continued, perhaps)

May I speak freely
about Elf's and Gnome's.
Those of the garden variety,
where they make their homes.

The lost moon,
a void horizon.
An empty sky;
Where's the brightness
to catch my eye?
Come back now.
Return to me,
for in the darkness,
I cannot see.

The sack is empty.
No more your lies.
Leave this place now;
No shameful goodbyes.

The rain falls;
laying in puddles,
filling street gutters,
as the drains,
overflow; bubbling up,
as if saying,
"No more rain."
The ground is saturated;
soil wet and deep,
but the sound
of the rain,
on our roof,
makes for a restful
night of sleep.

There are times
when I arise
in the morn
and the smell
of the Sea,
wafts the air,
recalling the memories,
to the front
of my mind
of trips to
the beach;
a favorite time,
walking on sand,
wind in face,
while many of
your troubles will
disappear, when the
sounds of Seabirds,
in the salt
laden air,
removes the worries,
lets them all
pass, when the
wind dies down
and the Sea
is like glass.

If you still are a believer, in We,
of this current display of idiocy,
please review the insurrection you see.
Is this the Nation you want it to be?

Up in the morning,
before the Sunrise.
Time to go fishing,
as it is an ebb tide.
Down to the water
pole in my hand,
reliving the joy
of a younger man.
No worries or fears
of what I could do,
for I hadn't yet met
the remarkable you.

Be here for me,
is what I say,
for my time here,
will be going away.
Away to a place,
I do not know,
but perhaps a trace
of love and affection
in a far away land
of sweet perfection.

So many people,
on this wonderous day,
said they loved me,
yet here I stay,
locked in this prison.
A broken down dream
of what life was like
or what it did seem.

The World has been changed.
It will never be the same.
Never again, at least not now.
We won't see intimacy or how
to be as close to another,
as we did so long before.
I will miss the social aspect,
like I never did before.
I miss the contacts in time and space
as I yearn to see a familiar face.

I must be the proverbial,
old fool, of a man,
who's taken in, by others,
with a money making plan.
This story hasn't happened to me,
but I have received e mails,
directed to me so personally.
Promising riches, you can't believe.
Just send us some money
and the fortune will be,
put into your bank account,
your friend at the Embassy.

Random thoughts, fill the air,
filled with love and despair.
Be they good or be they unsound,
there they lay on frozen ground.
Does it matter? Not to me,
for I am here, loving thee.