We were born old,
toothless and bald?
With wrinkly knees
On which we would crawl.

Our hands and face
spotted with age.
But our parents don’t worry
It’s only a phase.

For soon there after
Year after year,
The wrinkles and spots
Start to disappear.

At twenty our hair
is still streaked with grey.
But the wrinkles get less
and less everyday.

By forty we’re fit
Ever on the go.
Our eyes clear and bright,
our skin all aglow.

At sixty we’re invincible,
Healthy and strong
With knowledge and wisdom
we can do no wrong.

By ninety we’re once again
Toothless and bald,
Unsteady on our feet
we prefer to crawl.

An ever repeating cycle
Whose course we can chart.
For it comes out the same
From either end we start.

Somewhere amidst
the black, cold night
a presence lurks
that steals all light.
It’s a monster,
it’s bad luck,
a harbinger of doom.
Another nightmare
destined….
for the dark room.

The dark room abides
near our darkest fears,
nestled beside
the River of Tears.
It’s a sad,
lonely,
desolate place.
But it’s always there,
just in case.
Incase
from a dream,
a nightmare should bloom,
We can chase it away…..
into the dark room.

The house sits neglected atop an overgrown hill.
Waiting, forever quiet and still.
Her windows reflect the blood red sun.
  Evening says a long goodbye, to no one.
Night wraps the house with coal-black arms,
To once again hide her fading charms.
Cut deep by her eaves the wind wails and moans,
racing round and round this dark house of bones.
Kids crawled on her floors, climbed her stairs,
She held books and beds, tables and chairs.
There were pets and parties, laughter and tears.
Her walls rang with love for so many years.
But weeds and trash now fill her lawn.
Her flowers and shrubs are all dead and gone.
Standing in stark silence, alone and ignored,
Time attacks her every board.
Once grand and bright atop her hill, she slowly falls apart.
Devoid of soul, dark and cold,
sits the house with a broken heart.

Most people don’t know it,
Yet it’s true all the same.
Humpty Dumpty had a brother.
And Harold was his name.

Now Harold was fit and tan,
thin as a rail.
While poor Humpty was short,  
portly and pale.

Humpty had no ambition
so he did not a thing.
While Harold was a Squire
and personal trainer to the King.

Harold became a lord,
and walked the castle halls.
While Humpty sat alone each day
atop the castle walls.

Lord Harold’s responsibility
was the good King’s health and weight.
But alas I guess we all know
poor Humpty Dumpty’s fate.

Born of emotion
their destiny I fear,
is to well into life
then disappear.
Joy, sadness,
anger, pain,
they make no distinctions,
no judgments, no blame.
One of many
they’re too hard to stop.
Hearts break or mend
on a single drop.
They can cheer,
they can cleanse,
show love,
fuel elation,
Or help drown a soul
in total desolation.
They’re always with us,
no matter our years.
We never grow too old
to shed a few tears.