The day we moved into the house things changed. The walls seem to echo as if the house spoke.
It was years since my wife and I had physical contact. Kids and jobs took our attention  And there was little time in the bedroom other than sleep. I didn't expect anything to change as responsibility with a the is many.
  Anight visitor came  inside the breeze . I couldn't make out their ****** expression or even their garb but  I sensed I knew him and needed to listen
As if it was guiding my hand I allowed myself to touch my partners form. I could feel her body melting as I began to tickle her fancy. Together we moved in a thunderous song of breath and heartbeat.  I was home in my new home.

She was my elusive lover
who only came out at night.
Her silken waved hair
In waves draped
on delicate skin.

Her eyes as deep as the ocean.

When we embraced horns of ships sounded agains tempest winds of our passions.
We were ships passing in night
her leading me like a lighthouse bulb.

A gift that dissapeared with the fog
but a smile never to be forgotten.

Our roles changed
when mother became ill.
When she lost her memory
at the ripe old age of 90.

I  Became more adult and she child.
I became caretaker and she recipient.

We both became appreciative for one,
More she of me unlike past.
We both enjoyed the simple things,
like ice cream and music.
walking unaided and warm breeze.
And of course our endearing
smiles
between
two
Grateful souls.

Grand the poet is with words
that shimmer in mind.
That vibrate to give a song sound.
That inspires to light
a darken hall mind.

Grand the scribe is,
uncovering where heart
may not go.
Where eyes play in
playground of words.
Where a place of invisionary flowers
and seeds for self grow.

Grand a writer is setting
sail in their own minds.
Expanding in breath to voice feelings
that open consciousnesses.
That allow reader to anchor
to pause in ones life
to see.

She bleeds on me
with her negative flowing jargon
that attaches like plague.

Words that dishonor my very soul.
Red corpuscles from heart
try to disintegrate its power
as blood melts into me
robbing me from life energy.

Ego jumps in
supporting her disease of thoughts
as I determined to survive reach for truth.

Positive words to bath in
and wash blood away.

Truths that say,
I am a smart, precious,
gifted and
deserving to be free

Free from the disease of my mothers blindness.

Age travels into higher numbers.
Days melt into one another.
Moments reach into mind
with slow breath,
as eyes stare into space.
Faces seem distant
with no name.

Once again the thought
becomes elusive.
Playing a hide and seek game
Playing with a adversary called
Alzheimers.


StarBG © 2017

The worse block a writer has is the block made by one thinking they have a block.



**

Open that dam of words, only you have the power.