To hear the sound of your voice,
brings pleasure to me.
It always has, when I hear thee.
The lilt of your laughter
when we talk and I see,
your eyes are aglow,
with love's own humility.
Unlike before, you aren't near
and I haven't had a hug
for now; a half of a year.
Keeping a Social distance,
is so hard to do,
when your remaining years
are down to a few.

Where is the joy in this life,
if I no longer have my wife?
She is still here with me now.
Her memory is gone; She knows not how,
to prepare herself for days end
and I help as she is my friend.

The Moon is shining bright,
peeking through clouds above.
Has the Moon now become
a shining beacon of love?
Or has it become, in this World
a pillar full of hate.
Why do you write these words?
Can you not, now relate
to the words that have described
some terrible time of fate?

The Witch rode in, on a
broom so thin,
showing the blue-green color
of her wrinkled up skin.
A pointed hat sat on her head,
was black as night.
Opening her mouth, she said
"Come here my lovely child,
come now to me
and I'll make you famous
in this Worlds Fable History.

She rises from the bed, in morning light,
eyes half closed with sleep from the night.
She asks of me, "What do I do now?"
Put on your slippers and glasses too
then I will be down to fix breakfast for you.

At times I am lame.
No; not in that way.
Just a naive person
as I was, one lonely day.
She called to me
from a table, quite near,
wanting to know
if I'd like a beer.
She said, "Call me Ann,
I am your server today."
I nodded my head,
she left, walking away
and brought me a beer
in a long Pilsner glass.
It was then I knew
I now must confess,
I had been here before,
for they all knew my name
as I came through the door.
Why can't I remember?
Or not know at all,
when I entered the chamber
just off the hall.

The window opens.
Time will pass,
through the space
but not the glass.

Like English Ivy, a spreading vine
around my life's path did entwine.
Growing in all directions, as I see
my path to the future is no guarantee.

Dizzy I am,
from drinking the wine,
poured from the bottle,
with fruit from the vine.
The fruit is crushed now,
in to a juice so fine.
Rich is the color,
the smell is divine
from the Godly nectar,
in this glass, mine.

How many pages can I write,
with words so simple and trite?
Trite to me, perhaps to you too.
The words I write are just for you.

It began in early Winter
or the late part of Fall.
A virus so contagious
it could kill us all.
A Democratic hoax
is what was said
and now there are over
one hundred fifty-six thousand dead.
What kind of man?
What kind of fool,
has now just become
the Devil's own tool.
Make America great again
were the words said.
Not so great now
for those who are dead.

For one time in your life,
behave like a man.
Don't be untruthful
as you only can.

Sometimes, I hate this life,
I most certainly do,
when I see what Dementia
has done to you.

The thoughts in my head
do abound,
but aren't factual, trusting, solid
or sound.
Running the gamut of imagination
some profound,
have brought me to a place
without sound.

Out of our window,
I see the street is wet.
A passing shower,
Is OK with me
For it brings water
To keep the earth moist,
While keeping our water bill,
Much lower, of course.
The fresh smell of air,
Cleansed, for a while
Is a relief for this
Tired man, who now smiles.

Ugly your thoughts.
Ugly your words,
When you tweet,
It's so absurd.
You know not of love.
You only know hate,
For you chastise others,
When you lie and berate,
The goodness of those
Who wear simpler clothes.
Perhaps it's the truth,
Which will soon depose
Of your hateful rhetoric,
Only the Voter knows.

You said you would drain the
swamps, in the D. C. towns,
but all you have done
is released all your clowns.
You will say one thing and
then you take it back.
I swear you behave now
like Frick and Frack.

A bag, a box, a cloth sack,
you have many excuses
now you want them all back.
Did Mexico pay for your wall?
Or is it your imagination,
which you have? All
the lies you continue to say
and the acts that you do;
Enemy Number One
that now describes you.

When you have conquered the fear
of what lies within,
it will be time for an election,
once again.
In spite of what Trump tries to do,
the future of this Nation,
now rests with you.

A long time ago,
in a place far away,
where the children could run
and join others to play,
being close to one another,
not staying six feet away;
playing games or completing a task,
without any worry of wearing a mask

I am writing these words
without rhyme or reason,
for I am a frustrated artist,
as some people might say
but that is not as simple
or difficult to be.
Have I a skill?
Only you can judge,
for I write out these words,
with nothing in mind and
my thought are a flow,
like many times before.
Why is it something I do?
Just to skip a bit as I must;
There is no free lunch and
there never will be. Stay
safe, is what I say now.
Be good to each other
during this short short life.