I look again upon the sky as I have done so many times before.
To see the change of natures' palette as sun sinks beyond horizon's floor.
The blue of daytime sky and the wisps of white and mottled gray,
give-way to golden inlaid mauve upon red curtain as amber fades away.
Hues of golden yellow that were present short moments before,
now lost beyond the silhouetted landscape as if cast to distant shore.
Flame upon the heavens, cloud lit as if scattered, precious jewels.
Colours of natures palette so vibrant, disobeying all artistic rules.
silhouettes of birds in flight etched in black upon the fading light,
All traversing in rapid beat of wing, to seek shelter from the night.
Trees and distant vistas mere shadows where sun did slide away,
as palette welcomes the new nighttime bidding farewell to passing day.
No brush stroke and no words can match it.... a fire like no other.
How many days could I count that I have left to me?
Would I dare to count, knowing that finite they must be?
I know that there are far fewer than when it all began.
None the wiser am I, as to whether it was to some plan.
I find I have come to ponder the complex and the small.
To wonder if there be a purpose or just no point at all?
Why be given to the thoughts and give time to such things?
Looking for answers but deepest thoughts no answer brings.
Why give the imagining to some ethereal immortal goal,
and wrap it up so fragile in such a flimsy mortal soul?
Were there ever choices that I made as I took life's risk?
Or was it all pre-recorded on some universal Blu-ray disc?
I know the day's sun is setting, another day so newly passed,
Mortal mind taunts me, in the tally, will tomorrow be my last?
Why do we even harbour thoughts of immortality?
Lately I have had a feeling of a sense of deep foreboding in the air,
every time I stop to pause, to think, I can feel it just lurking there.
An all pervasive feeling that all things are not as they should be,
and I get an anxious sensation that it's effects are not just on me.
Colours of nature seem all faded and the air seems different too,
the sky is somehow much more ominous and appears a paler blue.
Even the birds I see upon their wing seem more skittish everyday,
and I wonder if they feel it too, does a dark fear halt their play?
I sense a tension in the natural order of these once normal things,
and my heart and mind are fearful of what message this all brings.
Like some silent siren wailing or invisible flashing hazard light,
my mind is filled with deepest dread and senses things aren't right.
Far too much time caught up thinking upon the portents that I see,
with each terrifying thought I pray for all, to hope that its just me.
I really feel this.... things just don't feel right.
I fear it.... mankind or climate.... one or the other.
Harmonies and melodies that accompanied my drift,
nursing wounded soul and often giving it a lift.
Moments when cords and rhythm took me the next mile,
so many old chorus' that could make my heart smile.
Songs and tunes that touched the moments I've seen,
to connect forever to people and places I've been.
Soundtrack to my life to record memories in rhyme,
taking me back as if I were some traveler in time.
At some lonely hour when an old track comes to mind,
stresses and troubles for a time gone and left behind.
Teleported by some in the moment pertinent track,
where a mind can find escape and be taken right back.
The music of who I am, of my soul that shaped my life,
at every joyous moment and every tumultuous next strife.
I play those old tunes and I sing so badly right along,
I can't help but to do so, as its my life and hearts song.
Music..... what a gift to the soul.
Through mist of mind the thoughts again come lurking out of haze,
a time once given to a true love, giving rise to many blessed days.
Before a heart was torn and severed from my body's very soul,
a time where all of me was contented and felt complete and whole.
Seeming so long ago the memory yet not distant or younger past,
fates promise of true happiness, seemingly written in the di as cast.
Soft words yet still haunt me, once again tears run from my eyes,
as mind recalls the horror moment when heart learned all was lies.
Forever scared and left as broken, shards of who I was before,
no trust in love or hope, so never being able to be something more.
I cannot forsake the memories nor can I choose to hold them back,
for they always start at true love felt before launching a fatal attack.
The memory of that love I lost and the echo of mind "was it real?",
a soul will not let go that there was truth in how "true love" did feel.
So to keep the joy of love once known and how it should be still,
I have need for the memories that invade to hurt me at their will.
It still hurts..... always will
My heart remembers there is more than this.
It recalls there being something warm and infectious.
When the beat had purpose beyond mere survival.
A throbbing and pulsating that gave power to emotion.
My mind glimpses a past that held joyous moments.
It recalls there being sensation and a fire in my core.
When every dream and hope had shape and form.
A memory made and cherished immune to times' flow.
My body longs for the thrills it once knew when young.
It recalls the dexterity lost through its aches and pains.
When pleasures could be made through another's touch.
A yearning for something that ageing stole in the night.
My soul cries for the sake of heart, mind and body.
It recalls the strength of being someone made whole.
When joy, happiness and love were something real.
A time when life was all and ending was so far away.
Fragments I am become,
Dismembered by life and time.
Getting old and feeling it
I thought to write a poem but no subject came to mind
and though I racked my brain not one topic could I find.
My head was full of nothing even though I had a need to rhyme.
But no matter how I strained it was quite simply a waste of time.
I sought to look for inspiration in the reading of a new book
but I never really found it, despite all the time it took.
Perhaps I could find motivation in some TV and the news,
But that made me feel quite weary and so I took a little snooze.
Mind refreshed from sleep still no thoughts of what to write
and so it has remained through to these small hours of the night.
My desire to write a poem to entertain you as you read
has all come to nothing, so many hours later, I must concede.
A lot of time gets wasted