It may not be a melody you know or lyrics you can sing
But like an old worn bell I hope you’ll hear it ring.
You won’t be able to dance to it or even hum along
But at least it will remind you that I am truly gone.
It won’t be a melancholy tune full of lonely tears
But maybe it will remind you of all our happy years
No one else will hear it, drifting through the breeze
But perhaps the gentle notes will cause a stirring in the trees
Being gone isn’t always such a sad and lonely thing
It opens doors to all the joy new beginnings bring
Listen for me when I’m gone I will always be there
Sending out my words showing how a man can care.
WHC Copyright 2020
I wonder at the depth of the soul and does it ever end
is it like a card you buy but then you never send?
Does it just sit in there hidden and waiting to fly
or is it sitting in there simply waiting to die?
It is a puzzle for all who believe they have one
but better to wonder each day then have none.
I stumble when my tired feet attempt to walk,
I stutter when my ancient tongue tries to talk.
I count the years and fear strikes me cold
I know now that I am afraid of being old.
A wrinkle arrives most every single day
No amount of treatment can make it go away.
Rest does little to appease my constant fear
I think about the other side and shed a quiet tear.
Will I miss my loves, my dreams and such?
Will I still long for someone’s warm loving touch?
Age always works for wine and cheese
But it is a tragic enemy of memories.
Dreams become less important and almost dry
No warmth or promise not even a gentle sigh.
Tread lightly when you wake each morn
Try to recall that special day the one when you were born.
As the air turns brisk the leaves fall like coloured paper on the disappearing green
I take on a daunting task that most men in the new world have never seen.
I stand alone in a brightly lit room with music playing equipment at the ready.
Trying in a way only the ancient would know to keep my hand firm and steady.
How many more opportunities like this will play out in my final living years?
Pain racks an aging body and soul, I am now only afraid of fears.
I grasp the blade and approach the task at hand careful with every slice
Trying to be sure beyond doubt that all I reap will be enough to suffice.
This is the chore that comes about perhaps twice to a stalwart man
Standing over the carcass, glaring and planning as only a hero can.
This turkey has lost and I will clean its sturdy bones until they shine
When the job is done and the bowl sits quaking on the board...he’s mine!
Copyright WHC 2017
I wander aimlessly around my tiny world, cringing at the pain
I worry about tomorrow’s plan and curse at today’s rain.
Joints of hell and fire make every step a burden,
yet no end in sight and more of the same is certain.
I want to stand as tall as a little man and breathe fire,
not be known as a poet without words or a liar.
I want to battle through the agony and avoid the tears
I need to dig a little deeper to make sure I hide my fears.
Older may be better when discussing the fine wines
But in the body of an old man it’s a world of wrinkles and lines
I recall the early days as many writers do, words flowed like beer
music never stopped and there was always more to hear.
Looking in a morning mirror is a terror in itself
I see the face of a statue that belongs on someone’s shelf.
Where is the smile and all the character that made me young
where is all the harmony for the songs I’ve always sung?
Will this happen to everyone as years slip through their hands
Will all my friends and family watch the sifting sands?
Time will tell I have been told as I wither and fight on
I hope the best of me is coming.... but not gone.
For all those battling tomorrow!
As I close in on the final moments of my 60's, I tremble a bit, cry a lot and worry even more. It is an inevitable moment except for those who depart early. I should be celebrating my accomplishments as few as they are and my 70 years.....but it is hard to deal with the fact that the finish line is in sight. Age, decease and failure all gang up on you at a very inappropriate moment. A moment you can't avoid unless lightning gets you first, or a random bus.
I envy all the seniors who take old age in stride and simply "wait" to go......with full acceptance and sometimes even gratitude, if pain is their partner. I deal with my pain the best way I can and I look with admiration at friends who have surpassed me in years and health issues and are still bouncing around enjoying life without fear ...or at least not showing it.
May I walk down the aisle to the end of the red carpet with a semblance of a smile and perhaps even a poem on my lips or a song in my voice.
Yet I am going through a time of concern, annoying those I love and accomplishing nothing.
Words escape me and the courage to share my issues just isn't there. So I carry on, being a stone in everyone's shoe, a rain shower spoiling the summer days .
I am working on it but I am fairly sure by the time I find the remedy I will be ashes on someone's mantel.
I sit in wonder amazed at the pain of death and the knives it injects
into the empty souls left behind.
I stare in confusion at the blood that fogs my groggy vision
and terrifies my throbbing mind.
How do we turn off the shooting arrows that pierce our hearts
and leave wicked scars to bear?
When do we heal from all the vicious wounds we carry
how do we show the world how we care?
When does the door open to allow us freedom from pain
how do we bandage the cuts and holes?
Are we meant to continue on day to day in the sun
but dragging behind our empty souls?
Questions that we all ponder as we go about our lives
afraid to lose the ones we love.
We watch the sun go down and rise again everyday
It's the only thing that is guaranteed from above.