I am a deeply flawed collaborator
Looking back at the past
In old photographs
I catch a glimpse of
Someone I once loved
And my stomach churns
With an acidic burn
That crawls up my gut

She is a smiling memory
In cliché haunting me
Not dead but not who
She used to be
Fourteen years ago

I wrote her poetry
To express what she meant to me
But she had to leave
To join the military

In one of those silly vows
We promised to be together
If we were still single
When we were thirty or forty
She has probably forgotten that

The white navy hat
The uniform of black
If I could go back
I would not

But to be honest
The loves we lose
Will probably always
Haunt us
But it sure makes
For good poems

Won't you hug me?  

A hug from Elsa
Or Cecil
Or whoever it might be

I want hugs from
Fellow poets
On Hello Poetry

Where am I going
What is my path
I have to make choices
Put aside my wrath

Trails lay before me
Like cards in a game
Which trail do I take
Will I end up in shame

Choices are not easy
Overwhelming at times
Which way to turn
I can’t cross that line

Stand still for today
No decisions can be made
Only time can guide me
All the way to the grave

I loved with grand passion
and lost with grander shame

Only those that burn with me
will know such pain

I got a friend who finds her heartbreaking
Even though she is breathtaking
Perfect flesh made for the taking
Of love of air of hope and dreams
It seems that screams haunt her heart
The lines built in her skin
Are threadings of the once him
She has lost a light that I never knew
I never had the pleasure to see it shine through
Only now do I get an inkling of her truth
She is a violin in the cemetery
A wolf with bat wings yes she is that scary
She is a writer like me a dark art beauty
Whether she will ever know it or not
She is a beloved dear friend
And I will treasure these moments
We shared till the end
Or until my Alzheimers kicks in

I feel lost and forgotten
The white light strings
No longer tether me
To hope

The pattern of people’s behavior
Is not something I savor
I tire of trying to play savoir
To the mad mass of human cattle

Love is but an illusion
Dull despondent
I no longer long for it
A bitter mistress
Who I undress
With no more self-delusion

It is a fog and as all fogs do
It must pass
I must ask
Myself to be patient
But it runs very deep
And I would rather go to sleep