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What are we to do
the family cried,
when you lock us up,
taking away our pride?
I would like to come here legally.
Lord knows I tried,
but you lock me up,
now my child has died.
What kind of person are you,
all torn up inside.
When I was crossing
the border wide.
I know you hate my face
when you deride
my life's pain and suffering
as you stood there and lied.

My mind has been locked in step.
No thoughts come forth as to what to write.
A vacuum co-exists, within the mind,
As decay starts to attack inside.
No help is coming soon, so
I must jar the mind loose,
By using a mental broom,
To sweep the cobwebs, from this head.
Where are those thoughts from before,
Not knocking on the mental door?
I wish I knew the answers then.
A solution is needed. Not sure when.

The brightest days; The darkest night,
pulls upon the memory strings.
Spending time in Agana, Guam with
our flippers and snorkel tubes. Face down
in the water, salt residue crusting
on our skin. Shark nets out,
so no worries there. Just a need
to keep sucking air through the snorkel.
A pleasant experience, in those days,
of exploring Islands for weeks on end,
to supply the native population with
medical aid and supplies.

Things are getting worse every day,
as the things she knows, go away.
When she says, "I don't know what I'm doing."
It is a real statement and is not accusing.

I have no life, neither does she.
If this is God's will, then let it be.

It is a terrible way to die,
Has been said before.
Is there a good way to go?
Peacefully in your sleep?
Thoughts that burn and creep
About someone's demise.
What are we as a mortal being
That thinks that we know,
All the answers, but in our
Defense, there is scientific
Results of studies, not of guess
And from that we will make
A decision, that effects us all,
That has no foundation, but to say
Life's a gamble everyday.

I ramble here,
I scramble there,
Words are spewed
Everywhere.
No matter the size,
Nor of the care,
They fall to paper
Like dust to coat.
Be they near
Or just remote.
The only idiocy
Is what I write,
That is read by thee.
Like it, I hope,
Care you must
If these words
Are just the output,
Of a minds rust,
That says nothing,
Just nothing.

A small wisp of smoke, among needles fine,
is smoldering under a tall Black Pine.
As a breeze, from the West it came,
creating a blower effect causing a burst of flame.
The spark that started this little blaze,
did, blown by wind, began to amaze.
Those people, who were out, in the trees,
were now in danger with the increased breeze.
A loud exploding fire it was
and consumed many acres because
it was started by a careless camper
who was not aware to damper
the hot ashes from his untended fire
and called in Smokejumpers to this pyre.
We must be careful, when out there,
for this time of year, danger is everywhere.

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My green thumb
has turned brown.
My transplants are
shriveled and dying.
I best read more,
to improve my skill.
I've had great luck
with many plants
and provided new starts,
to others so they could plant.

Can you tell me
or at least relate,
when God will open.
Heaven's Gate?
I want to know,
so when it's time,
I can go and see
her through, away from
this time of pain
and memory loss.
A sad refrain
that can be
a moment of joy,
at least for her,
but not for me.

I must say, with little flair
that I feel so much despair,
about the slow destruction of
someone who I dearly love.
Discussions that happened minutes ago
are gone from her mind, that is so
clogged with random questions and thought
that is unclear to me, as I cannot
provide the answers to her question,
not even a slim, remote suggestion.
She behaves like a child again,
except the aging body has much pain.
Conversations we have filled with love
thanks to you, mighty Lord up above.