Together in Age
Deeper then the cracks on the summer sidewalk yet
strong as the wind that the heat will share and set.
That is the tune of our long lasting hands in chains
and the description of all our loving pains.
Words are weak and never tell the story.
yet pictures cannot either they would be too gory.
All there is stands before us in a picture of gloom
One of us will go soon and leave a lonely room.

Just when a man settles and takes to the idea of peace and quiet,
just when a man realizes the value of family and earthly delights
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man hears music in a more intimate way and reads words that bear a deeper meaning,
just when a man begins to understand and accept the near future and what it may hold for one with many years in the bank,
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man appreciates subtlety, cold ale and a fine meal,
just when a man learns to be grateful for what he has left behind and for all the memories he has created
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man can sit in the sun and feel the warmth and look forward to a peaceful night’s sleep
Just when a man feels repentant for crimes against his own world
and is prepared to accept his due
along comes a pandemic.
Talk of karma perhaps eases some bitter minds, many find blame to lay at the feet of others but it matters not because
along comes a pandemic.
No path is left unmarked, no trail leads to safety there is nowhere to hide.
Because along comes a pandemic.

The keyboard calls out after beer and gentle drugs give a nudge
I have a plethora of burning thoughts but my fingers won’t budge.
I want something sweet and comforting with a sweet tone
But fear and anxiety have cut me deep to the bone.
Its not writer’s block but a fear of tomorrows story
I fear it may be very messy and gory.
Who knows what bus will be the one or perhaps a grenade
Or standing in the cold of a Santa Claus parade
Don’t think too much it can cause many bad cuts
It can drive the car of life into several deep ruts.
Dance everyday though no music is playing
thinking all day on what your soul keeps saying
Dig up some words never heard in this life before
The ones that will be remembered and cut you to the core
Your legacy has the value of a suitcase and some ink
Hoping what you’ve written down will cause just one to think.

Leaves of varied colours scatter as a promise of tomorrow,
The winter winds may bring chills, ice and bitter sorrow.
The scourge floats through our homes traveling on personal spit
Seeking a new customer and a friendly place to sit.
Masks and gloves cover faces and hide our sad expression
But these thin disguises cannot eliminate our growing depression.
We wait for an easy answer from a pile of helpless failed leaders
Knowing full well they won’t succeed they are all just bottom feeders.
We older souls just sit and wait with anticipated anxiety
While politicians turn to money and cloak the choice in piety
Kiss your treasured love ones and hold them very close
They are our only hope for a love filled vaccine dose.
We are the ones they will sacrifice at every single turn
As the fire continues on in rage we are the ones to burn.

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.

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.