Kindness without a hidden agenda
Intelligence without *******
Authenticity without promotion
It sounds like sabotage these days
Or a new form of emotional cyberattack.

When I'm old, I’d love to hear you sing,
To fall gently in your lap as I dream.
I would go, as long as your hand is in mine,
And I hope that you are my last sight.

When I'm old, I’d love to see our family,
Like sinking leaves in cold tea—
Their gentle laughs carries your kind eyes,
My curious soul and humor in their minds.

When I'm old, I’ll show you tricks on the porch,
The warm summer breeze lifting your hair as it soars.
I’ll write you poems until my hands grow frail,
And till I die, if you call me—I won’t fail.

Things and you have changed
It's just not the same
Great memories but that is all there is
Now and then we will always be friends
You are stuck and standing still
No significant other which is sad
Wish you had a love like I have
Just so you know
Had to let you go

We all
find calm
where we can fake control—
a postbox taped shut
a red shovel scoop
a body turned to snow
a soul sinking
back to sea.

It’s not the scene
that matters—
but the reflex of return
muscle memory for mercy.

Some stay
afloat by sinking
others walk in full
scuba toward a post office—
with mail
undelivered
but chuckles in tow
or polite laughter—
even trauma
learns to tread lightly
when stamped
via Air Mail.