Don't we all sometimes stagger and fall, and taste the dirt
don't we all sometimes wake up to the morning sun and feel the hurt?
Perhaps we all have similar souls that somehow feel the same
maybe we all have minds that short circuit and feel the pain.
Are we all that different when the scorecard is examined  quick
aren't we all just a little disturbed and perhaps a little sick?
I think we are but I can't complain, I have no easy way
to make sure that tomorrow will be a better day.
So I will grab on to the present and hold it close in fear
there is no point in feeling pain that causes us to shed a tear.
Shoot it down, it's useless it drags us back each and every day
but it never stands loud and clear and shows a better way.
I guess I am out of here, alone and on the road
a pack upon my shoulders, feeling pain from yesterdays load.

WHC

Just the other day I lost a moment, I glanced away for a second,
I wonder what I missed. Was it worth seeing or a waste?
I walked down the street and didn't say a hello to anyone.
Did I miss the opportunity to make a new friend ?
I walked past a dog, a canine friend and didn't pat him.
Was  that a mistake too.
I didn't stop to smell the roses when passing a beautiful garden.
I surely would have enjoyed the sweetness and the beauty.
My chance was missed again. I was busy doing life.
I drove quickly for business and missed exciting graffiti on a wall
I bypassed a store window showing just what I need
I left it all behind, I was busy doing life.
I could have had lunch with a friend but I ate alone quickly,
I missed the conversation and the laughs.
I came home and watched the news,
only to find the world was ending ...I missed so much.
I was terribly busy with life doing what I needed to do.
I missed the ending.

Been a while since daylight had any meaning for me
my life has been surrendered to the time I cannot see.
I listen to old tunes and read some memorable lines
I sample my cheap collection of local wines.
I sometimes dance alone making far too much noise
it's what a free spirit does when they have no real poise.
I may recover from this lose of a friend, yet another one
it's a frightening way to live a life wondering when you're done.
Its age that puts this pressure on a grieving soul
You wonder if tomorrow it'll be your body in a hole.
Stay young I say, fear not what is to be
pretend it's there for others but something you won't see.

Last night I dreamt of you, it was musical, sad, yet happy and alive.
I tried to stretch it out something like, a long summer drive.
It was full of memories, magic and touching with care.
I looked at all of you from your baby toes to your hair.
I danced with you slowly and close sometimes off beat
I tried to remember the miracle that caused us to meet.
I may never get to replay all the passion that once was there
But it doesn't and won't, ever change the love, and the way that I care.

Amid life's worst hours and all the torment that flies around us,
we strive to seek a safe haven that will shield us from the fuss.
Family quarrels and deep down secrets that tend to haunt
then there are the issues that we walk about and tend to flaunt.
So why do we stay and watch the demented show and not leave
why do we wear a tragically broken and scarred heart upon our sleeve.
Because we are human and in this world we know no other way
to tackle the burdens, fears and memories that we carry day to day.
So, on we go driving and pushing into an endless pool of dirt
only to find more and more of the deeply human hurt.
Welcome to confusion, the only thing we have as a  guarantee
so back we go in quick retreat so nothing is really under warranty.

WHC

I dance daily with the prospect of dropping like a stone,
the worry that finds itself most constant is that I'll be alone.
I stare into a mirror which never lies but tends to blur
yet the joys of yesterday's pleasures are still a constant lure.
Measurements and drugs and rules to control my day,
at the end of which I'm too tired to have much to say.
Is this where we all arrive in the so called golden years,
living day to day and night to night struggling with our fears?
Rocking chairs don't rock and old feet cannot dance
they just rest and hope that there is really a second chance.
Another way to make your final farewell and grand adieu,
perhaps a party loud and bad, declaring all that's done
recalling all the games you've played and all that you have won.
Maybe then a dinner prepared in the finest style
with all the flair to carry you on that final mile.
These fears will not hunt me down, I promise to be strong
I don't mind the falling , but I won't stay down for long.

As I lean against the windswept rock, a memory comes to me
of the days I spent on "The Courage Son" and the friends I lost at sea.
The Courage Son was a sturdy ship, built of solid oak,
it moved along on God's sweet wind , not on steam or smoke.
The crew that manned this vessel strong, were the dearest friends I've known.
But they didn't live to tell the tale or reap the seeds they'd sown.
The bravest of men shall never return from the ocean home they've won,
but I the lone survivor will remember what they've done.
On the 23rd day of January, in Eighteen Forty-nine,
the men and I were down below sharing bread and wine.
When a storm came up the likes of which none had ever seen.
The sails were soon a tangled mass and the ship began to lean.
The heavens seemed a sheet of black with cracks of blinding light,
a mast was struck and hit my head destroying my sense of sight.
While my friends were scrambling fore and aft with a speed propelled by fear,
my life was saved by a brave young man by the name of Samuel Wier.
He led me to a lifeboat filled with food and gear,
enough to last a single man for six months of a  year.
I felt my body carried and lowered in a boat
I realized without my sight, that I'd  now been put afloat.
I couldn't see the reasoning, for the pain had blurred my head
I was rolled and tossed so very close, to finally being dead.
The waves that banged against the boat made it hard for me to hear
the fire raging on the ship and screams that stemmed from fear.
My boat was adrift for hours before, The Courage Son went down,
I pictured the sea opening wide to accept her oaken gown.
I was rescued by a freighter just off a foreign coast
white and ill with fever I looked a certain ghost.
Now it's just my old white cane and the smells of the open sea
that recall the storm the devil sent and what it took from me.