I
Know
Traces are
The sticky air
Between, hopes
Fulfilled and fears
Conquered, while
Life flows slowly
Towards an
Endless
Sea.

Birth gives life with an awful
Closeness, since today I
Sent a 1st birthday card
To a part of me, that
I gave to my son.
It crossed in the
Post with his
Card which
Read…

"Ian donates high quality kidney to his son"

In
Giving
We receive
More than we
Can ever expect
When we do what
Comes naturally to a
Parent in this cycle of
Life and living and love.

Be-tubed in my silver coffin for take-off,
Bemused by passenger coping strategy,
Beloved by adjacent nervous new-friend,
Being away from you is harder every time.

Bewildered by the preying nervousness,
Be-crossed by maddening screaming kids,
Bespectacled study of the unending 1Q84,
Being away from you is harder every time.

Be-thinking of what you are doing as I soar,
Because appoggiatura in “Someone Like You”,
Begets a “Missing You” sadness deep inside,
Being away from you is harder every time.

All my life I have been visited by a black dog,
Who brings dark thoughts of death and dying.
This is a coward’s escape in the light of day,
But no light penetrates the darkness I feel.

The decisions I make and the people I lead,
Who trust and respect the results I achieve,
The family I love and the life that I lead,
Make the challenge of now so **** hard.

At times this madness seems logical to me,
In the insecurity of fear that stalks me now,
But a mystery amazing to the people I love,
This secret unknown in my private distance.

The black dog leaves and with him my fear,
But I always remember him with respect,
And wait for the day when he will return,
And hope that he leaves before I escape.

Traces of memories we leave in verse,
Which capture moments in time, that
Become invisible, once they are gone.

Traces of what we are and do and can do,
In our life from the day we are born, until
We die, the sum of our hopes and fears.

Traces are the sticky air between, hope
Fulfilled and the fears conquered, while
Life flows slowly towards an endless sea.

Before I was born my fate was a thread,
To be spun and measured and cut at a time,
Determined by Fates inflicted on men.

Why is an impossible burden allotted to me?
And why the decision that since
Pandora was created,
My fate ever since,
Is determined,
By spinning of thread,
In the sandstorm of life,
By immortals who meddle.
On this earth, when I really prefer,
To be left on my own to live life in despair?

With my daily bread and a glass of wine,
And the love of the woman I love by my side,
Who sleeps in my arms as I dream or my fate.

Minus ten in blinding blizzard at midnight
Snow insulation isolates me from feeling
Cold sensation freezes me from your touch
And a contrasting black emptiness inside
Is a deeper sort of empty for me now.