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The Fire Burns May 2019
Don't stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep,
truer words were never spoken,
never shall I be awoken.

Do not visit me here,
I have no pain and no fear,
now, I float upon the wind,
no longer am I chagrinned.

I am free of earthly bonds,
I walk among the trees and ponds,
the clouds and mountains with me commune,
from life's stress, I'm now immune.

So remember me and the good times,
while I was in my living in my prime,
forget the end, it was no longer me,
please listen and hear my plea.

Go on about your life and live,
give to all what you have to give,
Don't stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
The Fire Burns May 2019
Turn the switch to down,
hear the squeaking sound,
tight wound wire unspooled,
dropping the boat adventure bound.

I turn the key and the engine roars,
my stress level begins to drop,
three days of fishing starts right now,
with hope the bites nonstop.

But as the saying goes,
better fishing than at work,
out here there is no nagging,
or complaints from bossman ****.

The only **** out here,
are the ones upon the line,
the bass bites my worm,
set the hook and feeling fine.
The Fire Burns May 2019
Nacogdoches pine trees,
shake their green heads, saying no,
at least that's how it feels,
as the wind continues to blow.

Brown needles, thrown my way,
as I trudge the forest floor,
big thicket hallway,
but there simply is no door.

Gurgling streams run over,
burnt iron ore orange mud,
filling up the creeks,
natures veins and life's blood.

The deer looks up at me,
flashes its tail and runs away,
the squirrel barks angrily,
on its perch's metronomic sway.

The mocking bird taunts,
mimicking the bob white's call,
the raccoon marches on,
oblivious to us all.
The Fire Burns May 2019
Blurred images of reality,
spread across the canvas,
pastel mirages entice me,
to enter the dreamscape.

Mental impressions,
transferred by brush,
transports me to Argenteuil,
to share a drink with Claude.

Tucked sails rolled away,
as mainmasts rock in the breeze,
the gentle lapping of water,
reaches my ears.

Details seep into consciousness,
but quickly dissipate,
much like the smokestacks ejecta,
filters away in the background.
The Fire Burns May 2019
Red and black flannel,
protecting what I seek,
tanned and freckled skin,
she is hiding underneath.

I seek to connect the dots,
with my tongues tip,
kissing here and biting there,
giving things a nip.

I peel down the collar,
exposing shoulder and neck,
in her mirrored eyes I see,
a sensual glinting fleck.

My hot breath causes shivers,
setting nerves on fire,
her baby hairs all stand,
like coiling burning wire.

Hands move at her waist,
a knot simply twist untied,
the robe drops to the floor,
the meaning is implied.
The Fire Burns May 2019
inspired ghostly images,
burned into retina thoughts,
in the end, life is empty,
even though it is hard fought.

playground swings hang limp,
laughter and smiles all dried and gone,
the wind whistles through the nothing,
a long and lonely song.

no birdsongs here,
no leaves of green,
a rarified emptiness,
there simply is no scene.
The Fire Burns May 2019
On days the mountains are close,
others they cannot be seen at all,
I swear they ride the rails,
at our imaginations beck and call.

The snow-capped peak winks,
in the spectacular rising sun,
reflecting thoughts and dreams,
and future hopes of skiing fun.

Today my mood is dreary,
on the verge of being bleak,
the mountains are all hidden,
for even they are feeling meek.
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