The heart is tired and growing heavy,
the body's calling me to sweet sleep;
I say so long for things today,
as the land of Nod in stillness creeps.
I will dream and not remember,
I will wake, let's hope, refreshed;
even in the fog of early morning,
as sleep and wakefulness, are meshed.
Goodnight to friends and fellow poets,
thanks for all the joys you bring;
that tug at our emotions daily,
that cause the weary soul to sing.
Sharing grievance with the world,
sharing every happiness;
without your voices heard and raised,
your poems would all be sorely missed.

Fit on the breastplate of righteousness,
about your chest and waist;
drink from the cup of truth,
how pleasant is its taste!
Keep on singing praises, to the God above,
may his blessing never cease,
prepare to spread His gospel,
upon your feet, wear peace.
Take up the shield of Faith,
that glows, just as the sun;
it repels the fiery darts,
sent from the evil one.
Take the helmet of salvation,
it will keep your mind on Him;
drink from His living waters,
fill your cup up to its brim.
Grab the sword of the Spirit,
hold the Word of God on high;
the full armor of the Lord,
is His great battle cry!

I welcome the night with its quiet
sounds of the rude world, deceased;
the silence is somber, inviting
my comfort level's increased.

The twilight is pulling up covers
I find a pillow, I rest my head;
in a few hours,  or sooner
my pillow will find its own bed.

I'm glued to the tube with a ballgame
my team is down by one run;
whether they win isn't important
it's the play of the game that is fun.

The room is darkened with shadows
one lamp's  sufficient for glow;
I get engrossed in the game
and follow its leisurely flow.

I welcome the night with it's quiet
cast aside, the gist of the day;
and rest in utopian fashion
as snares of the day slip away.

Don't waste your time on dreams
things forgotten half the time;
face reality instead
to dream, it's just a crime.

Dreams are great deceivers
most don't make much sense;
why give into fantasy?
it just makes the brain more dense.

Dreams are great pretenders
fluffy magic in your sleep;
if they're taken seriously
they may cause you to weep.

We don't recommend them
(that's me, myself and I);
they are troublemakers
I don't know just why.

Dreams are just delusions
that laugh and run away;
that hide in darker shadows
they never come your way.

I was once a dreamer
but they just passed me by;
and so I soon forgot them
I don't know just why.

There's a ship of fools,
pulls into every port;
it's called the ship of love
(at my last report).

They disembark with eagerness
and roam the lonely shore;
unfulfilled and empty
they're always wanting more.

Rose-colored glasses they wear
optimistic and well wishing;
they seek the opposite ***
it's akin to fishing.

The lure, the line, the hook
if you get my meaning;
they're putting on the front
with clever, hopeful scheming.

The ship of fools is sailing
from wherever you can think;
on seas of expectant loving
with smiles and charms and winks.

Cotton, floating, on the wind,
like snow, comes tumbling down;
and rests in patches here and there,
white fluff, upon the ground.
The roots on cottonwoods look old,
like gnarled and calloused hands;
they rise in towering strength,
in several, separate stands.
The cormorants build nests,
up in the sky, in giant trees;
oblivious to the white stuff,
and the offspring of its seeds.
They're noisy, full of cackles,
we've invaded their domain;
we walk further from the wood,
with their heckling on the wane.
To the muddy, murky shoreline,
where my dog's paws find the muck;
I call for him to come to me,
but I'm not having any luck.
I pull gently, on his leash,
he moves from off the shore;
tramping back through wetlands,
we find the path, once more.

Have you had your daily bread this morning?
the spiritual bread of truth?
not the fast food that exists
or the foolishness of youth.
Something stronger, something more,
that feeds the inner soul
that satisfies the heart
that you cannot control.
Truth that rights all wrongs
truth that fills and heals
not your quarter-pounder
not your Happy Meals.
Nourishment from God's great "lunch"
fulfillment from the Word
hunger that's swept away
by the truth that's heard.
He is the Bread of Life
the ever living fountain
by which you overcome
every single mountain.

It's the quietness of evening,
slumber creeps, comes to me;
and takes me to the sandman,
that always waits, so patiently.

I fight with little effort,
the weariness, too much;
I bow to eyelids drooping,
sleep has me, in its clutch.

I feel the heart grow heavy,
the brain waves, getting slow;
bed's just around the corner,
calling sweetly, this I know.

Just a goodnight poem for friends,
for fellow poets and their words;
who spread the rhymes we love,
where good poetry does merge.

Goodnight my hellopoetry pals,
let's all drift off to dreamland;
and hope that, in all the dreaming,
it's something we can understand.

Night comes, without much warning,
the shadows fade to darkness in a flash;
and daylight hides for several hours,
like it has done something wild and rash.
Night belongs to nocturnal creatures,
that crawl and creep and hide away;
coyotes, scorpions, snakes and javelinas,
lurk and scrounge until the break of day.
Night is a cover for the very wicked,
that prey and hunt, on the old and weak;
without regard for any consequences,
the hurt and pain they inflict to seek.
Night is the slumber of the good folks,
who sleep in peaceful dreams and snore;
unaware of things that might disturb them,
they think that they're safe behind their door.
Night passes, in the hours we know not,
a time of passage, almost all sleep through;
eight hours of a life we can't account for,
but at dawn, we awake, and feel brand-new.

Out on the porch,
gentle breezes blow;
I bask in early morning sun,
in its warmth and glow.

On my makeshift trellis,
trumpet vines climb high;
the rosemary is fragrant,
against the azure sky.

The honey locust trees,
sway lightly in the wind;
on the far horizon,
that seems to never end.

Dark, green juniper,
makes a lovely edge;
bordered on the gulch,
it makes a perfect hedge.

The willows and a cactus,
share the earth together;
red roses and bottle-bush,
complete my backyard treasure.

The arid land, does not lack
for growth,
the plants all seem
to know their place;
I grow to love their
buds and blooms,,
knowing soon, their
smiling happy face.

On your high horse, you passed me by,
never heard my voice, its quiet sigh;
never took your eyes off straight ahead,
passed me by, just like I was dead.
You're too high and mighty for my taste,
your upper lip, too stiff, your demeanor, cold;
and now, that I have thought about it,
you are too ****** old.
You were a passing fancy for my mind,
to think you might notice me, was silly;
you were after beauty I could not touch,
so you found yourself a lovely little filly.
I was young and foolish in my dreams,
to picture you and I, as two, together;
you only wanted flesh for satisfaction,
another wasted night of groaning pleasure.
On your high horse, you passed me by,
and lost the chance of me to coarsely ply;
and I laugh as I recall, that stupid, vapid day,
you rode by, not looking, on your merry way.

She speaks of love,
what little she's had;
her words echo,
lost, alone, and sad.
Why do not the Gods
comfort her and  sing?
maybe she has no hope;
in what they say and
things they bring.
A prayer is silent,
tossed in  the wind;
and woe continues,
without an end.
One day, her prince,
might come;
and straighten out,
the things undone.
A surprise to her,
and no one else;
dreams come true,
of what she's felt.
Love is patient,
love is kind;
first in the heart,
then in the mind.

My love was like a flower, always blooming,
I paid heed to myself, with much grooming;
to look the very best I could, for only you,
but that dissolved, when you and I fell through.

Now my love is like the dying cracks in sand,
that suffers from lack of rain on barren land;
like wilted plants, that wither on the stalk,
my heart's shunned by mute and empty talk.

Too late for saving rain, the very root has died,
by cold and callous ways you spoke and lied;
some love can still survive, but alas, not mine,
it all has lost its luster and its polished shine.

Yes, I feel like I'm the victim in this horrid tale,
but truth be told, that as both, we surely failed;
for a moment, for a time, it was simply grand,
but it was over when you never took my hand.

My love was like a rhapsody,  of that first kiss,
enveloped in a golden majesty of secret bliss;
but you displayed yourself to be a shallow rover,
and now, for all intents and purposes, it's over.

Mood affects thought,
memories still alive,
of pain some have brought,
with mournful sigh.

Images one can't erase,
linger like a bitter taste,
passing past my face,
such a human waste.

Errors made so long ago,
failure of the soul,
what then, we did not know,
what now, will make us whole.

Ignorance was bliss indeed,
morality was just a choice,
feeling good was just a need,
we never heard the guilty voice.

And now, those days, are gone,
is it too late to save the sinner?
now we know the right and wrong,
are we now, a winner?

Father give me courage,
to face my daily trials;
give me the endurance,
to walk the endless miles.
Let my light shine forth,
to those who cannot see;
let me have the strength,
in the place I want to be.
Hear my fervent prayers,
bless me with your might;
keep me safe and secure,
through the dark of night.
Father   -   grant me love,
the refuge of your peace;
the shelter of your arms,
the joy that will not cease.
Let your presence,   flow,
like an ever-living fountain;
and rid me of the obstacles,
of the ever present mountain.

Climbing hills is my pleasant pastime,
one with nature, one with sky and sea;
meditation on the wings of solitude,
is but little, but quite enough, for me.
Raindrops falling, pose no problem,
it's a reprieve, from all the drought;
I lift up my face to catch the drops,
there's life in rain, I have little doubt.
For today,  it's just a wayward cloud,
but it leaves me feeling nice and fresh;
above me, the darkness moves away,
going to the mountaintop, to mesh.
Far below, the shadows start to gather,
the sun recedes, becomes a molten ball;
in the distance, there's a purple curtain,
as once again, the rain begins to fall.
There is silence, sweet as the sunshine,
that in this special place,  is found;
I turn,  and head back to the world,
resistant and reluctant, to go down.

The first fruit of the spirit is love,
the second is joy, the next one, peace;
these are the building blocks of God,
without them, they will all cease.
The fourth is goodness, then gentleness,
and faithfulness then follows;
these are His attributes,
without them, faith rings hollow.
Kindness and long-suffering,
come afterward, to keep us strong;
and the final one is self-control,
to stop the urge to do some wrong.
All fruits of the Spirit, rightly so,
laws to keep us on the Way;
along with daily contact with the Lord,
as we bow our heads to humbly pray.
To meditate on, to fast and study,
to savor truth of God's great Word;
to listen to the song unknown to others,
the melody no one else has ever heard.

God calls to us,
by His great power, we're led;
to become His children,
not something else instead.

The world cannot receive,
the message that He sends;
the flesh rules thought and body,
and the sins, they never end.

We worship in the Spirit,
to us, the flesh is dead;
Jesus over came the flesh,
as on the stake, He bled.

Carnal mind and carnal thoughts,
are a barrier to His way;
no flesh can see the kingdom,
it that,  it has no say.

God calls to us;
the chosen and the few;
to dwell with Him forever,
a creation made brand new!

My back is bent,  but it's not broken,
hard labor will do that,  my dear friend;
but soon the day will come when work,
will cease to be, by some uncertain end.
We all must go that path that lies ahead,
but what happens to us,  once we've gone?
will we come back with karma waiting?
to play once more, that same old song?
Frankly, I don't care to be a cow or turtle,
or another different person altogether;
it's still a guessing as to what we'll be,
let's all hope that it will be a pleasure.
The Bible says, that there's a resurrection,
God says, He would  like to save us all;
but you must keep His ten commandments,
but you cannot,  if you don't hear His call.
Life's tough,  but there awaits, for us, a choice,
we can follow the Father of all untruth and lies;
or the Son of God who died for all our sins,
and for salvation, because He heard our cries.

On this gorgeous spring-time day,
I sing and praise Your name on high;
feeling gentle breezes blow,
awestruck at the azure sky.
Laugh at those that say it's chance,
this beauty that we know by sight;
grand design,  it's all around,
a hummingbird, an eagle high in flight.
The emergence of new life abounds,
the budding and the blossoming of things;
flowers, leaves and fruit on trees,
remembrance of what -  April brings.
The heart beats fast, the scent of love,
footsteps quicken at the break of day;
thankful for our friends and health,
thankful we still walk Your way.
Give us this moment for a lifetime,
to dwell, in the shelter of Your arms;
as we make choices that will please You,
assured we're safe - from life's great harms.

God is faithful...are we?
are we doing things we do not see?
doing things we think are right,
scoffing at God's will and might.
God shows love...do we?
do we let all others be?
turn away from what is wrong,
we dance and sing the same old song.
God shows love...do we?
or from commitment do we flee?
just deciding to live together,
for a moment's passing pleasure?
God is merciful...are we?
at what cost,  at what fee?
can we offer up - compassion?
or is that something,  we just ration?
God endures...do we?
do we pray on bended knee?
God's the Rock of my salvation,
and of our very troubled nation.

Father, we pray for a world divided,
by untruths, lies and opinion;
we pray for repentance from sin,
over which You have total dominion.
Search our questioning hearts,
and remove all that's unclean;
gives us strength to overcome,
in the faith and hope, unseen.
Father, please,  bless us this day,
with the knowledge of Your  grace;
with the peace that satisfies,
which we,  can then,  embrace.
We give our burdens up to You,
things we can't solve on our own;
we bow, to worship You, my Lord,
above,  on Your Heavenly Throne.
Father, take this solemn prayer,
and turn it to happiness;
let us then,  be a child of God,
whom You acknowledge and bless.

Let the light of God shine through,
in praise or in thanksgiving;
in blessings made brand new,
for another day of living.

Sing the song of His great love,
that keep the fires burning;
grace that's sent from up above,
for what your soul's been yearning.

Peace that knows no boundaries,
joy that knows no end;
faith that knows no quandaries,
stays strong around each bend.

Cast out fear from daily strife,
with the presence of His being;
with each aspect of your life,
and the glory you are seeing.

Let the light of God shine through,
with each word you share;
with knowledge of the things you do,
you can show you care.

Java gets my heart a-pumping,
clears the cobwebs in my head;
the rich, dark drink is fine,
I wake up, like from the dead.

Coffee is the choice of most,
to get the juices flowing;
it's the jump-start of the day,
to move and get you going.

A cup of Joe is pleasant,
two cups or more is great;
the last cup goes down fast,
any longer,  you'd be late.

It's so nice to be retired,
I don't have to "jump the gun;"
I drink it by the window,
and get the morning's sun.

So, here's to coffee drinkers,
to the daily, fresh-made brew;
to the start of one more day
by coffee...made anew.

TV warps my mind,
with its crazy violence;
there's little there to find,
I'd rather have the silence.

I'd rather read a good book,
than to watch the tube;
take a walk and just look,
TV's too **** rude.

Listen to good music,
and better, sing along;
TV's too **** slick,
I'd rather hear a song.

TV's  just disease,
mindless, ugly pleasure;
it's ******, slimy, ******,
nothing there to treasure.

TV warps my mind,
it's addictive and insane;
I've better things to find,
to see and feed my brain.

Heat comes, but for awhile,
the evening makes me smile;
light melts away, as shadow creep,
coolness comes, twilight seeps.
Days grow longer, spring is fading,
summer's close, I think of wading;
better yet, fully immersed, floating,
as some are fishing, others, boating.
I come back and clear my head,
mustn't jump too far ahead;
spring still has two months to go,
though it takes time, it isn't slow.
Twilight gives my heart some peace,
when the din of traffic's ceased;
when the quiet comes around,
when the soul's sweet grace is found.
I was on the porch, just reading,
books oft times are what I'm needing;
when the afternoon's receding,
when the nightly news quits bleeding.

I searched for moment's pleasures,
but then nothing did remain;
I sought out wealth and stature,
but the ending was the same.

I gathered books and music,
never gave much thought to sin;
women, wine and gluttony,
all were "grasping in the wind."

Foolish, man made fantasies,
not an inkling of tomorrow;
with all the silly happiness,
I was left with only sorrow.

With vanity, I lived my life,
then threw everything away;
beguiled by sheer ambition,
my ignorance held sway.

Were these things that mattered?
amid all dreams and wishing?
it was then, You found me Lord,
and the part that I was missing.

The wind is cool and brisk,
the sun, it gives no heat;
it's the end of winter,
and I have anxious feet.
To hike the rolling hills,
to walk the secret trail;
where butterflies hang out,
perhaps, some hurried quail.
To scan the sky for hawks,
or,  if in luck,  an eagle;
something grand as that,
something just as regal.
But I'll take a hummingbird,
or a hopping cottontail;
life's full of variation,
and I'm not one to wail.
All I need is random change,
from the traffic's daily roar;
from the din of constant chatter,
those are the days that I live for.

Once there was a precious love,
freely given,  without measure;
the fulfillment of a hope,
my most glorious treasure.
But nothing lasts forever,
and in time,  I left;
my love was just one-sided,
in my heart, there's now a cleft.
I couldn't thrive on hope,
or a love you cast aside;
a love that wasn't there,
which you in time did hide.
Why beat the drum and holler,
when the music isn't there?
when the one you love,
acts like she don't care.
I had to leave, for my own sake,
all those mournful wasted years;
accompanied by sorrow,
and now, my wasted tears.
I wish you well my darling,
seems so very long ago;
that said you didn't love me,
like a fool,  I did not know.

Dreams that die forever,
are never really lost-
they're filed away as memories,
but there's penalties and costs.

A marriage that has faltered,
a home you've never seen-
a child that never lived,
they all were once a dream.

Pieces of a broken heart,
lie buried in the dust-
fragments of a happiness,
now lost because of trust.

Voices of a distant past,
or echoes from a grave-
remnants of a moment,
lost in hollow caves.

Dreams that die forever,
stay with us, as we sleep-
as we go about our lives,
as inwardly - we weep.

The sun is slowing setting -
in the clouded western skies;
and chilly darkness covers all,
like for the one that slowly dies.

Wane of twilight has moved on -
cool night's formed and spread;
and a somber, quiet hush appears,
but nothing close by me is dead.

A page has turned, like in a book -
of this life's,  never-ending story;
and of the way we live it through,
and of God's auspicious glory.

It's only seasons ever-turning -
with the changes of each day;
tears of happiness that glow,
in the laughter of a child at play

Later on- I'll stand at your grave -
(or you at mine) then, we'll weep;
but not for very long, my sweet,
for you (or me), we are but asleep.

Each love has its own tale,
of passion and emotion;
of changes now forgotten,
a taste of its bad potion.
Some love dies so easy,
while others never do;
but in the final ending,
both of you are through.
What you had is gone,
what you felt has died;
if it slowly fell apart,
at least you know you tried.
Love stays for a moment,
but then it fades away;
no amount of trying,
can get someone to stay.
You get on with your life,
for a while, a broken heart;
but one thing you don't do,
you will never fall apart.
Each love tells a tale,
but the end is still the same;
sometimes friendly parting,
sometimes against the grain.

In a dry and barren desert,
in a stark and lonely land;
I searched for ample shade,
and touched its friendly hand.
In the canopy of cottonwoods,
in the coolness of its leaves;
I hid from pouring rain,
as it wet my sleeves.
In the vastness of a canyon,
I marveled at its sight;
and slowly headed back,
at the coming of the night.
In the dark and velvet evening,
I looked up and kissed the stars;
stood staring at the moon -
a world away from cars.
On an island in the sky,
I gazed at brown-scorched earth;
the diversity of nature's child,
the variety of its birth.

I am dreaming of tomorrow,
when the world turns well;
when we lose the sickness,
and there's nothing left to sell.
When the hate will vanish,
when solid peace returns;
when we learn the truth,
for which the sad heart yearns.
I am dreaming of a new day,
with promises of hope;
with souls of happiness,
that no more have to cope.
Of things that will bring joy,
of things that will bring love;
when each day shines bright,
from the Love that's up above.
I'm dreaming of tomorrow,
when the reality takes place;
when we've no need of dreams,
for the blessed human race.

Father you know well,
the things that trouble me;
the things I overcome,
just wanting to be free.
I sing to you in praise,
let my soul be glorified;
hear my fervent prayers,
know my heart has tried.
Let my voice be heard,
by angels in my keep;
give me peace of mind,
when inside,  I weep.
Keep me strong in Spirit,
and let my lamp be bright;
let me feel Your love secure,
in the forest of the night.
Father guide me on the path,
that leads me to salvation;
so that the day will come,
when I reach my kingly station.

She never wanted love,
only to hold my hand;
when the darkness fell,
she felt that it was grand.
To cuddle and to coo,
with my arm around her
shoulder ;
she just wanted to be held,
nothing greater, nothing
bolder.
I wanted more and told her,
she'd just laugh and smile;
be content,  she said,
just hold me for awhile.
I put my hand upon her knee,
she removed it - silently;
was I too much a panderer?
was it too rude of me?
She never wanted love,
just a flirt - that's all she was;
let this love remain a ******,
because, because, because.

There is contentment in my early walk,
my back is relishing the morning sun;
cares and thoughts are far away from me,
set aside, the things that must be done.

The air is fresh and clean, skies are blue,
my dog pulls ever lightly on the leash;
sometimes,  it feels as if he isn't there,
such are the worried thoughts that cease.

The hilltop offers me splendid views,
of town  and wood  and distant peaks;
it seems that I'm the only one around,
a sense of pleasure of the world I seek.

Far down below, the traffic is but mute,
the only sounds I hear are those of birds;
I love the feeling of my slow and even pace,
when I've no need for empty talk or words.

I delight in my need to find such walks,
with my canine companion by my side;
when from the world I find this place,
and for a precious hour I can safely hide.

The trouble with ambition,
is that we want too much;
when money is our master,
we've nothing but its clutch.

It's a bind that never ends,
it's the sacrifice of peace;
we accumulate forever,
not knowing when to cease.

Wanting better cars and houses,
wanting this and wanting that;
we forget what matters most,
we get rich and we get fat.

Friends fall by the wayside,
and the lovers come and go;
and we forget the meaning,
of just going with the flow.

The trouble with ambition -
lack of morals fall aside;
and our ethics fall apart,
in the wallowing of pride.

Take a cup of Dickinson,
add a bit of Poe;
a pinch of Rod McKuen,
not too much you know...
A teaspoon full of Kipling,
a tablespoon of Frost;
stir it in the ***,
so not much is lost.
A dash of Robert Service,
a dash of my friend, Shelly;
a little Tennyson,
is good for one man's belly.
For sadness, add Millay,
for humor, Ogden Nash;
for adventure, Masefield,
for D. Parker, something brash.
A recipe for poet's stew,
just simmer for an hour;
and relish the aroma,
of poetry and power.

Poets are a common breed,
they're a dime a dozen;
my uncle was a poet,
as was my second cousin.

Some are mad romantics
some are crazy, like a loon;
they write at all the odd hours,
morning, night, and noon.

The good ones leave you gasping,
at each turn of phrase;
you envy their technique,
strive to learn their ways.

The bad ones leave you laughing,
as they offer empty blithering;
you tend to scratch your head,
is there such a word as glibbering?

But, bless them all for trying,
to say what's on their minds;
it only goes to show you
it takes all different kinds!

Why do you keep hiding?
you're a fickle, funny thing;
the winds keep right on blowing,
so I know, it isn't Spring.

There's still the cold and frost,
to remind us you aren't here;
but subtle hints of promise,
remind us that you're near.

You doing it in reverse,
coming in like a lamb;
exiting like a lion,
are you weather's sham?

We need heat and blossoms,
some budding would be nice;
we had our fill of chills,
and were tired of the ice.

Show yourself for what you are,
the hope of things much better;
let me leave my coat at home,
so all I wear's a sweater.

Be more like Spring my friend,
get those gardens growing;
warm those spring-like days,
and get that sap a-flowing.

We're in the right position,
not too close to burn right up;
enough oxygen to sustain life,
sweet, the wine, from God's cup!

So sweet, the taste of love
from brimming hearts,
sunshine from above,
from which we all are parts.

The seasons bring variety,
in so many different ways;
as the earth turns in silence,
like half-forgotten plays.

The music that we hear,
the visions that we see;
made for eye and ear,
for you alone - and me.

And if you think it chance,
then you won't ever know;
the reason why we breathe,
and why the soul does glow.

Evening comes much later
than the day before
as Spring waits for her
time on stage
winter drags her heels and
leaves in snow filled rage.
Can you feel excitement in the air?
is your step a little faster?
it's the season of becoming
what you are seeking after.
The air is crisp and clear
the daytime's getting longer
and you feel the sap return
your body's getting stronger.
Anticipate the morning
the positive just flows
you meet up with a lover
the love, it grows and grows.
Who doesn't like the Spring?
you'd have to be a fool
to not like Spring's parade
when love itself does rule.

I went to see the sunset
from high upon a hill;
the clouds were forming right
I waited for the thrill.
But it was just a sliver
a gold ribbon in the air;
but still, it mesmerized
as all I did was stare.
My dog was sitting by me
to him, I gave his pats;
and drank in the coming dusk
as I brushed aside, the gnats.
The day was fading quickly
the shadows kissed the night;
and up here, upon the mesa,
the world became all right.

I can't give you happiness,
but I can make you laugh -
there's too much sorrow now
so on that, I'll pass.
Rodney got no respect
but he left us his laughter -
and we all need merriment
for things that may come after.
The blues are fine in passing
but prolonged, we do not want -
so conjure up a smile
not something that will taunt.
Grieve, but for the moment
but good cheer is for all time -
the sharing of good memories
so better than to pine.
Let humor be a constant friend
put the gloom away for now -
and for the comic geniuses
let's give a gracious bow.

You were a sordid torment to my soul,
with your differences, well expressed;
your love, it couldn't make me whole,
I was a fool in love, and I never guessed.
Your abrasions took me by surprise,
your rudeness was an added slap;
I felt stupid,  who once felt wise,
but our division was too great a gap.
I was thoroughly wounded to the core,
bent and bruised by angry hurtful things;
I then surmised I wanted you no more,
those weren't memories love brings.
I tried my best to make you understand,
to rectify the wrongs you accused me of;
but in the end, you never took my hand,
so it disappeared,  what once was love.
I'll not lay down and play the fool,
it's too late to mend and turn around;
I left you and I finally let you rule,
I only hope it's happiness you found.

I saw you again last night,
you were with another man;
I turned around in flight,
I just couldn't understand.

Why you left in great distress,
with a note that left me blue;
I miss you so my darling,
when you wrote that -
we were through.

What happened to the dreams,
we had for you and me?
love just fell apart it seems,
were we so  blind we could not see?

What made you run away my dear?
was I so awfully bad?
now I'm left with only fear,
we've lost what we once had.

I saw you once again, tonight,
you were laughing and carefree;
I was standing, in dim light,
I guess you never noticed me.

Let me climb a lonely peak,
where no other feet have gone -
to soothe the savage breast,
as I hike along;
To still my anxious soul,
to meditate on high -
to be where eagles soar,
where I can hear their cry;
Take me to the sites,
that can take one's breath away -
for an hour, for a moment,
let this solitude but stay;
Where horizons never end,
only vision fades from sight -
when the shadows of the evening,
takes from view, the blazing light.
Let me rest upon a ledge,
from a cliff upon a peak -
to relish in my spirit-force,
the words I cannot speak.

Under the golden maple tree,
nestled in fields of clover, green;
across a meadow of flowers -
that's where my dreams are seen.
Along a trail of fallen leaves,
beside the clear cold streaming brook;
you'll see the dreams I have -
but you must carefully look.
You cannot gaze,  then say,
"I cannot see a thing" -
you must know what dreams look like,
and what such dreams will bring.
Look very close and you will find,
the dreams my heart do hold;
seize the moment and the dream -
if you would be so bold!
Under the golden maple tree,
against the earth so green;
across a meadow of violets,
that's where such dreams are seen.
Along a path of scattered leaves,
beside a fast flowing stream;
look close, look hard,  - you'll see
the reality of my dreams.

There are no roses in this garden blooming,
they've withered and died on their stalks;
like the flickers of love that we had,
when we started stopping our walks.

When the kisses gave up their warmth,
when the touches soon became brief;
and embraces were often forgotten,
in various stages of grief.

There are no flowers in this garden growing,
just the tangled masses of weeds;
that perished with our troubles,
that ceased, just like our needs.

When the silence became the norm.
when our eyes looked the other way;
and the nights became too long,
for anything good to stay.

There are no roses in this garden blooming,
only a barren plot;
adrift in memories,
of bitter unanswered thought.