I  still  love  my  Catherine  dearly.
Her  beauty  unsurpassed.
Long  golden  hair  and  pale  blue  eyes.
I  still  think  of  her  like  that.

But  that  was  four  decades  ago.
The  time  has  just  elapsed.
But  time  stands  still  in  the  memory.
Just  like  a  photograph.

We  were  to  marry  one  March  day.
But  circumstances  took  me  away.
When  I  returned  from  foreign  climes.
Life  had  moved  on  with  the  times.

I  never  saw  her  ever  again.
Odd  letters  I  did  get.
She  was  swallowed  up  in  city  life.
And  I  often  have  regrets.

Has  she  grown  old  gracefully.
Or  in  youthful  beauty  died.
Many  times  I've  thought  of  her.
And  many  times  I've  cried.

But  in  my  mind's  eye  clearly.
Running  swiftly  down  the  hill.
A  vision  of  loveliness.
Within  my  memory  still.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.

My thoughts they are provoking
The darkness that is encroaching

I'm just here moving about
I haven't a destination, I haven't a route

I'm but the living dead
My eyes see only red
My soul's been chained
My emotion's drained
My heart is missing
My life is a cobra hissing

Scattered, nothing left of me
I'm a wondering gypsy
Nothing around me to see
For I've gone blind
My soul is in circled by a chalk outline
There is nothing left of me to find

I never see your face anymore

The only image in my mind is your lovely, raven-colored hair
I once had a dream about you
You were facing away from me and woefully crying

I never figured out why

Around us, a pond of pallor was dotted with ghostly remnants of trees
While I crossed the liquid fright, your cries grew in timbre
No matter how close I was to your voice, it never seemed close enough
I stopped and quickly glanced above because the Moon was crying too

I never figured out why

The wind’s touch gently blew your night-like hair against my closed eyes
I confidently summoned all octaves residing within my soul
But before I could call your name, they caught me
Hands that sprung up from the sickness, eager to ****** my ankles
My heartbroken whisper finally stopped the weeping

I finally figured out why*

A dainty little head slowly turned so I could gaze at the jewels on its face
Two rubies cascaded, their scarlet streams plummeting off pale cheeks
While you returned to looking forwards, sobbing droplets of agony
I felt unforgiving murkiness drag me down below

Her love is destructive like blue suns turning my black sand beach into glass
Boiling away my oceans setting my fields ablaze in blue flames
Bringing an end to my world.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

The flipside of the day

Brings a lot of melodies

Of painful journals

At most the moon and stars are dead

For those eyes that lament for the beloved

The breezy sound of the wind

Doesn't bring a beautiful song of serenity

Instead a tune of sinister

Darker than the night

Because the lullabies of every nocturnal

An echoing elegies

For those who were left behind

Sightseeing imaginary images

Whispering song for them

Every night

Still dying inside



5-25-2016

Mysterious_aries

I need incentive to write
To think
To imagine
Living a happy life
I need a heart
A replacement
To the misery
You planted with your knife
I need my time
To be back
Without struggles
When we fight
I need air
To breath
To feel my lungs
Exhaling you out
I need light
To see
To spot you
Leaving my sight
I need ears
To hear
To despise
The lies you weaved so tight
I need my mind
To forget
The promises you say
Then **** over night
I need incentive to write
To warn others
To tell innocents
How all this was never right

I remember a time long ago
When each person carried emotional baggage in tow
We held friend and family member equally dear
Kissed every cheek and wiped away every tear
Now we lie cruel and rotting under the sun
Devoid of any sparks or pangs of fun
We’ve forgotten our righteous ways
Seek therapy from bad decisions and ashtrays
All sense of the common good is delivered through slow reactions
Overshadowed by emerald greed and ***-soaked distractions
I’ve tried to convince my children of the change
They just look at me as an old dog ripe with mange
To all my loved ones who have died
I can at least mutter "I tried"
I suppose it’s about time to scrape hope up and wash it down the drain
Sit out on my porch, feet propped up, watching society fall like rain