Door slams shut.
Heels clicking,
Echoing down the driveway.

Gears grind.
Tires squeal,
Rubber burns.

Mother is gone.
Father is alone.
And so am I.

Train rolls on by.
Whistle blows.
Hear a child,
That doesn't cry.
Anymore.

Pain burns so deep.
Can't find it.
No more.

Silently weep.
Tears must keep.
On the inside.

Now Mother's here.
And Father's there.
A child they share,
Apart.
Tear apart.

Tug of war,
On the heart.
Family feud.
Feed the child the ammunition.

Mother's always so fair.
But Father doesn't care.
A child lost,
A child tossed.
Upon the waves,
To the islands shore.
Island of isolation.

He isn't the moon,
But its sultry glow

He isn't the sun,
But its shine

He isn't the clock,
But its time

He isn't the hands,
But the holding

He isn't the poem,
But its rhyme

He isn't love,
But my heart

In many ways we are all simply children,
Age has no barrier does it?
They say it's an individual's state of mind.
Wrinkles are merely character
Grey hair? I'm waiting for the next color to come in. Hoping for Pink...

I think I can refuse to submit to OLD.
I reach back to a 1970 Chicago Tanglewood concert on YouTube.
Was it REALLY 45 years ago?
Does anyone really know what time it is?

Ok, I know I'm biding my time.
I lost my friend last year,
And just before he passed, just before his last breath...
I convinced him that life doesn't end here!

Journey on my brother , journey to the next dimension.
Hug our loved ones..give my upmost love to my Mom & Dad
I KNOW you are there in a distant galaxy because
I can hear you whisper..."he was right".

I love you Buddy!

Space is curved.
The straight line
a Euclidian fiction.
The very fabric of space,
the skin pulled in upon itself,
Light follows this curvature.
Nor is time the heartbeat of angels,
as we once thought,
but our own shaky construct.

The galaxies that we imagine
to be real prove to be
archaic images,
things that once were.
When we look into the heavens,
we look back in time.

When the light of our star
has traveled in one vast
cosmic arc
and returned to its source,
we shall know ourselves.

In that dawning
light will fail,
the stars dim and flicker.
Time itself will falter
and the voices of angels
will be heard.