Ever the morning,
always the night,
ever the moment,
always sun light,
ever the rain drops,
always the dew,
ever the exitement,
always the few,
ever the wonder,
always it's you.

The blade is sharp,
like a young mind.
No empathy for others,
just a mind most unkind.

I'll search the World over.
I'll search until I find
a corner of space
within my lonely mind.

My loved one.
My Dementia child,
is what you are
and why it is wild,
for nothing I say
is remembered by you.
If my love is a given,
this I must certainly do;
take the necessary action,
doing what is good for you.

Why must the life we live
be so unbearably long,
when there is no longer music;
no words to sing in a song?

I awaken, in the darkest of night,
my body, atremble .
I should arise, to write once more,
but I need the sleep,
of a newborn child,
loud, raucous, wailing away,
saying, "please feed me."

Pillars of light
from the full moon above,
pollenizes the night air,
with a new growth of love.

Can we leave today,
after I water, of course.
I need more potting soil
to repot some small plants,
as the pots they are now in
are much to small.
I've discovered I'm not plant dumb
and have developed a "green thumb."

Stepping slowly
from my car,
with a cane
in my hand,
I marvelled
at the sight
of this,
my own
piece of land.
I stood
with admiration
of the sight
and grandeur
of the plot
which was
my command.

What is your answer?
What do you say,
when your spouse says to thee,
"Is this our house?
Why are we here?"
Yes, we are home,
I said that to she.
The newest development,
in the Dementia Parade.
Another lost memory or more
for I can't keep up,
and no longer keep score.

He laughed, as he wrote,
it came deep from the throat.
His personal joke, was a note
written by him; memorized by rote.
Alone am I, stuck in life's boat,
look what happens, when you fail to vote.

Sing to me
sweet Chickadee,
a song of when;
this pretty Wren.
It's a tweet,
so very sweet
to my ear.
Now your here,
in this place.
My smiling face,
longs to hear
and you appear.
Like a Dove
bringing a love
a friendly noise.

My thoughts today
are those of thanks.
Thank you
for allowing me to be,
here for my wife,
who needs me now.
To care for her
as said in our vow;
to honor and cherish
for as long
as we shall live.
Thank you Lord
for the life you give.

There was a rumbling;
a loud exhaust noise,
produced by a man
with too many man toys.
The chill and excitement,
you heard outside on the street,
sends a chill up my spine.
The sound of it's silence
by the electric cars
is not there, yet there they are,
swooping down like an electric
golf cart is what you get,
when we leave the gas vehicles
and go to these new times.
No gas tax revenues
to pay for repairing the streets,
so tax revenue drops,
with no offset revenue here.

One pane of glass
is all which remain,
inside the pieces
of the window frame.
The house is vacant,
now for many years.
A neighborhood blight,
a story of long lost tears.
Who lived here,
so long ago?
Were they like us?
I wish I knew.

Stand and deliver.
A stand of trees
or to stand up,
or stand
if you please.
A night stand.
To stand by
or a fruit stand,
to be or just
stand next to me.
A deer stand
up in a tree.
I understand what
it may be to thee.
To take a stand
and stand for your beliefs.
Stand once more
before you kneel to me.

I tire of this life;
of bickering hate.
I tire of a life where
everything we must debate.
When will the land become one,
before it's over and we're declared done.

The rock was smooth.
Smoother than glass.
Harder than steel,
no jagged edges,
did I see,
just a round rock,
so unlike thee,
with all of your edges
and crannies which be.
How about being nice,
just once? Do it for me.

My brain is dead.
It died once more.
Why am I running on empty?
I don't know anymore.
Needing some inspiration
to open the proverbial door;
stoking my imagination
and to sweep the floor
of my mind. throwing out
the broken words and chaff.
Please help me now, Lord,
as I need a good laugh.

I'm lost in thought.
Could it soon be
a new type invasion
in my old reverie?
"Who cares?" was said
by someone looking like thee,
for no one from here
would come out to see,
if the words you wrote,
were no longer to be.
Gone from here, now
beyond the vast Sea.