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Sometimes a small thought can
manifest itself into a fantasy.
I should re-write this into a story.

A re-published poem,
from 6 years ago.
about the slow slide,
into Dementia.

There are many reasons,
for seeking solitude.

Trip the light fantastic,
please don't fall out of bed,
for I need to see you,
before you have fled.

Please tell me tomorrow,
if you still feel this way.
If you don't, I'll understand,
then I'll go away.

You mean more to me,
than my words can say.
If the feeling is mutual,
then, here I'll stay.

Do you think it's right,
to pass judgement on me?
Found all of my flaws,
so, you can now, see?

When your hatred,
exceeds ice in a iced tea,
you will be a sinner,
The same as me.

Don't say you love me,
even if you do,
I will vanish now,
and there will only be you.

It was year 2001,
we knew nothing,
about, what was to come.
We were happy,

the Century was done.
We, never thought,
we'd see the World succumb.
Yet here we are,
my wife is gone,
and I must pretend,
to live my life, like a song.

When it is over,
will you relent,
or have the damages,
left you with your nose bent?

Anger, should be,
to understand,
except when your feet,
are stuck in the sand.

We are Actors,
in our own life's plays.
We play actors in life,
until the end of days.

Our roles, all different,
as they should be,
for we are all players,
in the scenes, we see.

I hope we are called lovers,
by all who we know
and the love is truthful,
once it's decided to go.

I'm happy to know you,
and for all which you do.
My heart, bursts with joy,
whenever I see you.

You are not my love,
to take.
I'm so sorry, if,
your heart, I break.

I sit here,
in early morn,
reflecting about,
when I was born.

A Midwife,
a dining room table, was done.
Out soon, there was born,
a boy. A son.

Naked branches,
across the sky,
a moonlit background.
Why, oh, why?

Do the simple,
things in life.
Create joy,
not causing strife.

Await a visit,
from afar,
while you observe,
a falling star.

Writing words, to paper,
will disappear with disdain,
as overtime,
memories, wane.

Nothing was special,
dreams were fast,
as disinterest prevailed
and didn't last.