He loved her, but his love was forced to buzz beneath the surface, like a deep pain under an ******
The day it would be relevant seemed to drift beyond possibility, but he hoped for it
And some days he awoke to it,
bleeding
A ghastly wound, once healed then torn open,
dreaming

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again

This loving you does me no good,
Why won't Time help ease my pain?
In the late hours, memories gather 'round,
Smouldering ashes are stirred again

First an ember, and then a spark,
Soon the flames are leaping high,
Our symphony of love begins to play,
(I just can't let this music die)

Do you recall how we would hide
And love each other for hours?
That old shack by the lake would welcome us
With its fragrant jasmine bowers

Strange how the moon always found us,
He'd perch high above some tree,
Unfolding his rays of silver satin
He would cover us tenderly

Did you know how much I loved you?
Were my whispered vows too weak?
My heart and my soul are tormented now
By words I may have failed to speak

Nothing has changed since you left me,
I still love you, this I know,
(How can love that's been starved and abandoned
Still thrive and continue to grow?)

As darkness peers through my window,
I miss you more than I should,
It's taken me much too long to admit
This loving you does me no good

The number between 23 and 25
But 24 is for you to strive
Experience you gained before
Opportunities for you to explore
24 a numerical sequence
Be open, but don’t close
When there is a problem, you should expose
Rational thinking shouldn’t be suppose
24 being your time to step up
It should be your reason to climb
But always remember and keep in mine
“The choices you make are strictly your own”
But I know you have always known
24 is for you to soar
The number 24 is your score
You have a voice, and now expel on the speaking floor
Be confident and certainly sure
Well 24 is a number you don’t want to ignore
Become an after and remembrance of before
Therefore
24 is knocking and waiting for you to open the door.

It was his younger years in being a competitive Bodybuilder
He competed in numerous Bodybuilding Contests and won
It was his sheer dedication in not being out done
It was other sports just for fun
The Old Man saw a challenge in what sacrifice that came with Bodybuilding
The weights were the Old Man’s determination from lifting back then
But his career with the weights didn’t have to end
It was encouragement from another to continue to train on
Train the Old Man did and it was hours long
The weights became the desire with the fire
This has always been the Old Man’s regime in being the principle
It’s just that simple
Age may have accelerated on
The Old Man was inspired to continue to be strong
His muscles greeted the weights with every given lift
As an Old Man, you don’t have to be Stift
Intensity was in the Old Man’s eyes
Yet he has acquired wisdom and experience of wise
Train until
Bodybuilder still
The mind for training in will
Old Age won’t stop
My young days in being a Bodybuilding champion in dedication in what put me at the top
There is no reason for the Old Man to stop
Train, Lift and Construct
The Old Man’s theory, “I lived to be, my Bodybuilding muscles from before all to see, and all my desire in what my training should be”
An after training Flex, and image still, but with a determined will.

Trying to put the words where they belong
I have been writing all so long
A Poet writes what they feel
It could be one’s reality for real
A Poet can write hours after hours
But when a Poet reads what they wrote, it doesn’t sound like the inspiration being spoke
A Poet writes more
But the mind states, there’s more to explore
The night can turn Midnight
It’s those very hours the Poet should be a sleep
But it’s the Poet’s inner emotion soul he wants to keep
Sweat pouring down with a tomorrow that has already came
What have I written?
Is it something forbidden?
I am surrounded by sentences feeling like a gate
But being a Poet, can I relate?
Shadows of me
Darkness no one can see
A Poet doesn’t need a name
It’s a write with an idea that came
Some say, a Poet is nothing more than a game
A Poet writes what’s in their head
Yet sometimes people feel misled
Only a Poet knows when they are a Poet
It’s the confidence to show it
It doesn’t matter if people don’t understand
A Poet will always be in demand
The Poet has the passcode, and it is called “Unload”.