I lay upon the satin sheets
As the lights burn through my head
And struggle with my memory
To recall just what I said.
I turned and put my hand across
The body that I share
And wondered in my empty mind
if it really pays’ to care?
“What’s in sharing life” I ask,
But only half for me
God, these satin sheets feel cool
and in my hand the key.
I guess I’ll stay for one more night
She really shouldn’t mind,
She seems to like my company
and my cool evasive kind.
Perhaps when morning comes around
I’ll pack and move awhile
To another bed with satin sheets
and a temporary smile.

As a paddle breaks the glass like glare
Beneath the pine sweet hull,
A breeze shakes gently through the trees
and leaves behind a lull.
The shoreline brims with glistening green
As the sun pounds out its beat,
And reflects a drop of golden light,
As trembling ripples meet.
As peaceful as a memory
Of sweetened days and love,
A cloud with hidden meaning
stirs the blue above.
Remember, yes remember
This day that when it leaves
Engraves the magic images
Upon the soul that grieves.

Standing on the corner, with roses in her hand,
She stared at all the faces, that passed like drifting sand.
No one stopped to break her thought
or carry off a rose,
as the winter wind, brought freezing rain
through her torn and ragged clothes.
Darkness never seemed to come,
as the neon pierced her eyes,
and it hurt to hold the basket
of roses no one buys.

A man trapped in habit and silliness, I waited with baited breath
but this year my special day was torn from me by his tragic death.
We would sit as a tandem in the spring sun, two noses in the air.
pondering lunch, grass, lilac buds, but not harbouring a single care.
A dozen years such a short and faltering era, one I can’t explain
we shared our time, we shared our souls, and most of all our pain.
The first warm rays of spring brought us out like two old bears
airing out our empty souls and throwing off our winter cares
Facing the sun grinning in our own special way, a pair winding down,
a brave and furry warrior and his faithful adoring clown.
So I guess it’s over, the sun doesn’t shine quite as brightly today
I sat there alone, an old and lonely fool with nothing left to say.
Perhaps this year, spring has a new purpose, to usher in the end,
my faithful old friend has left me and I have no garden to tend.

Blood drips slowly through the tubes of my heart, like a lazy plumbers mistake,
I wonder as I listen to the gentle drops is it maybe for my own sake?
Do we all feel love's pain  as a stab to the heart, or is that where we normally start?
I hear voices in the night, some cry and others sing
I hear bells in the morning, some dull and others ring.
Everything is a sign of something else, rolling in our head,
maybe we wonder the difference...alive or maybe dead.
Throbbing souls create a drumbeat in harmony and doubt,
those of us so used and done are feeling sadly left out.
The parade will march right by us and leave us at the curb,
like a statue old and worn that we should never ever disturb.

Sadness comes in all flavours and hits harder some days than others.
It makes a sky darker and the sun further away like long lost brothers.
Sadness can make your very soul tremble at the break of dawn
it can make your heart burn when you know that she is gone.
Sadness plays no favorites, it gives no special odds or choice
it jumps up at a moment's notice and screams with a bitter voice.
Sadness is what we try to avoid, what we all try to escape
like a corner mugging or a vicious painful ****.
It's out there, lurking in the darkness, calling out our name
pretending that its happiness and trying to be the same.
No warning is sufficient no alarm gives us enough time
there is no chance to skirt the pain or miss the crime.
Sadness is the anxiety that kills our soul and heart
now we wait to see just when the old car rolls in to start.

As a rubber ball
the child’s heart is bounced
from concrete walls
while courtroom antics
are played out for spite by all.
Finger pointing, lying, loud voices
and between times an ice cream cone for a boy.
A boy or perhaps a toy
waits with this one or another, while robes and
books decide on a father or a mother.
Perhaps a Saturday father will be born, for rules
are rules and stated clear, they read that a mother’s
love is best.
Pay no mind to children’s love or reality.
Pacing floors and clouded eyes, stare at yellowed prints
adorning walls of aged wood and words.
Father speaks in turn of days gone by, promises love and speaks
of a son not a boy.
“Times may change” a voice whispers to the trembling man,
“the past may not endure”.
A miracle today they all say, as the majestic rooms hold
mumblings by the score.
Hand in tiny hand they move on out, to streets of hard cement,
where dreams are waiting to be built.
No Saturday father today, perhaps another time.

Sometimes we think we know the world and all that dwells within,
perhaps we think we just aren’t loved and that is such a sin.
Not in ways of holy books or idols on the shelf,
but a sin against your own esteem, for we need to love our self.
How could one stand in a pleasant place, where love gives off a glow,
and still be heard to say, they really do not know.
Love is in the food we eat and how it is prepared
love is in the rooms we share and how another cared.
Love is in the time we have though often not enough,
love is in the hours no matter, smooth or tough.
Puppies too have loved you without ever saying so,
Yet here I am a simple man, who never lets you know.
I give in the ways I understand and sometimes they are weak
When I know that as a woman its loving words you seek.
So here it is on paper, it is the way I am
A simple little poet, not worth green eggs and ham.
But even though my words are poor and pockets full of air,
You must feel after many years, the poet does really care.
WHC

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.

Silence spread through the small gray room
as the heads all dropped in apparent gloom.
They all stood up as the music played,
and walked to the front where the body laid.
One by one they stared at the face
solemnly still in a reverent grace.
First comes the wife who knew him so well
her mind held the secret she never could tell.
Next came the son the eldest of two,
when the time was right he knew what to do.
Last came the mother who was so far away,
she just couldn’t see why it happened that day.
The man lay smiling, gray and serene,
he seemed to be waiting for what might have been.
His best suit covered the wound in his chest
that had taken him now to his permanent rest.
His oldest had held him while his wife pushed the knife
with one swift movement they snuffed out his life.
Hating this man for the things he had done
ashamed to be known as his wife and his son.
No one else knew what happened that night,
everyone thought he was killed in a fight.
Could the subconscious erase the hard fact
of a mother and son and their murderous act?
The greatest of motives just can’t justify
the death of a father and a hideous lie.
Guilt could be seen on the face of the boy
he didn’t share in her freedom and joy.
It took four days for the boy to repent
and face up to the woman he’d grown to resent.
His hands wet with fear he opened the door,
he pulled the steel trigger and she fell to the floor.
He waited a moment his mind filled with pain,
put the gun to his head and pulled it again.
Two more plots in the cold damp ground
as the fear of truth makes a deafening sound.

You're at the bridge now, cross it son,
but try not to look down.
On the other side if you make it there
you'll wear a golden crown.
Just a few more steps and a few more tears
and the singing will be loud,
come on boy you really tried,
I am sure she would be proud.
A man can't grow on the dying side,
there is no feeling in his soul
an uptight mind of emptiness
just trying to be whole.
The social wars break him down
to where he just can't feel,
but maybe on the other side,
the wounds will slowly heal.
Careful now we don't want to fall
there's a hand at the other end
My god I hope she can realize
how very much I need a  a friend.
Look straight ahead at her open arms
and pray they'll hold you tight.
it's a long way down if you start to slip
and you'd soon be out of sight.
Just one more step, you need her mind
it could be just the final key
to the gold at the bottom that we find.
Hey wait girl don't turn and run away,
he watched her face and he crossed the bridge
and he has so many damning words to say.
Don't back up, my arms just can't reach
and I haven't touched you yet.
Help me now or I'll surely fall
and they'll watch my gravestone set.
The bridge is getting shaky now
she's turned to hit the road
The hang ups start to pull him down
and he drops his heavy load.
He can hear the music on the other side
as the bridge begins to crack.
It's too late for help he's going down
his body's on the wicked rack.
A silent thud and it's over now
and they sweep the mess away,
and carry the loser's beaten head
on a shining silver tray.

Darkness spreads like summer tar as her eyes turn up the heat,
Pretending life is a forever thing is a polished silver feat.
Like raven’s hair and an eagle’s heart, she bears the burden well
Living through the daily fear of a secret none can tell.
Her love will dance like firelight on a frosty afternoon,
Even though she knows the time is ending all too soon.
Winter’s chill turns up the pain to an ever burning rage
As we wait like little children for the turning of the page.
We simply live like migrants or mutants on a screen,
We just can’t share a memory of a place we’ve never been.
But we can clasp two hearts as one through electric cord
And cry ourselves to sleep at night, praying to some Lord.
Tomorrow’s just a distant nod in a sea of unknown wind,
Losers die of wondering on what day they’ve sinned.
I’ll carry on my weary back the treasures handed me
And wander through the heavens to see what I can see.
I’ll watch and guide from distant space, I’ll whisper oh so low
But only you will understand the world I used to know.

At 3:02 the last bomb fell, smoke and ashes spread,
wiping out survivors that were counting up the dead.
Buildings lay in rubble, piled throughout the street,
as the country once the master met such grim defeat.
Some bodies moved in search of food while others screamed and cried,
By 5:05 in the afternoon all but two had died.
A youth whose eyes were lost in flames, stumbled in pain and fright
as a woman lay huddled in a smoke filled room hiding away from the night.
For three long weeks they survived this way, just barely enough to eat.
The future of a rebuilt was lost, lest the two should meet.
The blind man staggered in bricks and trash,
falling and crawling through the smouldering ash.
Death was creeping up on him for he heard the steps behind,
when a woman’s scream pierced his ears and thoughts raced through his mind.
Face to face at last they stood, now the world could grow,
but the youth without his vision was the last of two to know.
His hands reached to touch her, but she said “ it can’t be done”
Then she took him in her arms “My God I’ve found my son”.

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.

The little man stood upon a hill, for it was all he could climb,
He lived upon the low land and his world was built on rhyme
All his words found a way to touch each other and cry
When tears were not the daily plan then words became so wry.
He stood upon his hill, with his small and battered hands,
wishing for the ocean view and the feel of burning sands.
The sun was just above him and stars were there at night,
but all the world around him seemed to block his sight.
Sometimes magic would arrive and touch his wounded soul,
but there was no constant answer, he was never to be whole.
Why stand upon the hill they say, there is no answer there
He would not give an answer, he knew they didn’t care.
Days go by as does the clock and all the blowing dust,
the world still changes colour, it turns to bitter rust.
The little man on the hill watches it all in shame,
He sees that rhymes won’t cure the world, life is just a game.

For three score years I’ve lived and loved to the tune of my own song
O’ dreaded years to you I say, beware my soul is strong..
I’ll stand up high no feeble bones, no fear of silver hair.
I’ll not conduct my last romance from an antique rocking chair.
I’ll roam the world like younger folk have done for years on end,
if I can’t keep pace with youth today, by God  I will pretend.
No shame in age I will remark, if the rebel children ask
just the wisdom of a thousand years, behind this wrinkled mask.

The crowded streets seemed empty now, beneath the noon day heat,
as the devils and the invalids wait 'til dusk to meet.
Then the sunlight fades and the neon signs, attract the social crowd,
the silence dies and an echo's born as the deadly night grows loud.
A ***** blonde in a ***** coat, leans on a grey stone wall,
waiting to lead her regulars down a dark and dingy hall.
While a blind man steers his cane ahead to aid his weary feet,
he gropes his way to a barstool  where he and bottle meet.
The piercing sound of a siren is muffled by angry tongues,
as an old drunk falls in an alleyway clutching his heaving lungs.
The sight of the city from the fifteenth floor turns the heart to a giant pump,
as a ****** high in every way prepares for his final jump.
Dance hall girls line the stage and kick their legs in time,
as the prestige men in business suits order gin and lime.
An aging man with glass in hand finds friendship in the night
bringing back his childhood through the shouts of a barroom fight.
The pain goes on 'til the lights go out and the wolves all head for home
for those who have no place to rest the sidewalk is there to roam.

The animals left the zoo one day to have a big parade.
The plans for all and rules to follow had previously been made.
The elephants led the grand array trunk to tail they were,
while lions followed in a pride, glistening up their fur.
The monkeys hitched on giraffes, sitting upon their backs,
than the hyenas laughing hard came running in noisy packs
The snakes they slithered down the crowded street,
of course they slide because they have no feet.
The zebras striped and all in line were such a sight to see.
Then came a group of tigers strong,smiling with their glee.
It is so sad for us to know this lasts for just one day.
Then all the friendly animals will not parade or play.
But boys and girls can stay the same and be gentle all the while,
and live each day in happiness wearing a loving smile.

Time tends to twist and bend the gentlest of thoughts
it seems we want more of it even during the painful times.
Time and light are the currency of life, if we have both
we can spend hours watching the long road ahead of us.
Do not take either for granted, do not squander this treasure.
It may be fine to share or even teach the skill to others
as long as you recognize what you have and how long it will last.
This road we walk is a different length for each of us
be aware of how far you are from the bridge of finality.
Grasp each moment no matter the pain or pleasure involved
and do all within your power to preserve each second of that event.
Spread your ideas and plans to those you love and care for
hope that they follow the plan as you have and perhaps
reach that bridge at the same moment sharing a smile and love.

A gravestone worn with age and wind
Leans toward the west
A monument for what’s his name
Who used to be the best.
Those who knew him stood and wept
As they watched his final show,
But after this performance
There’s no place left to go.
Will they come back to see him now
as a friend without a stage?
Or simply write of what he did
on a torn and yellowed page.
The entertainer made us laugh
He put music in their head
But nothing fades like the memory
Of a man whose show is dead.

The fence was so high and the wall so thick and I was armed simply with a stick
the grass was high and grabbing on, my soul was weak my energy gone.
I ran with all my body could endure, looking for a decease I still couldn't cure.
An answer I couldn't find, a bell that wouldn't ring, a song I could never sing.
I was lost in other words hanging from an old oak tree, that only some can see.
Where do you go when everything has been seen and all the fruits are lean?
Climb and climb and run for your life, don't look back at torment and strife.
You will only survive in glory, if you recognize that you will always be a story.
We all dance to a different tune, knowing the song will be ending soon.
There will be a symphony amongst the screams and blooms within all the dreams.
Don't go to bed empty or walk away sad, don't leave your thoughts alone and mad.

To all those who have never had a dog….you were never able to see the tilt of the head when a question was asked….        
To all those who never had a dog …you missed the peacefulness of a walk on a summer day with a companion of the highest order.
To all those who never had a dog…….having a head rest itself on your knee and look up in love is not for you.
To all those without a dog..... you will never get a lick or a nose bump of love.
To all those who have never had a dog…….the wag of a tail, signaling love and happiness will not be yours.
To all those who never had a dog…….you will not share an evening dinner with a most appreciative friend.
To all those without a dog….. you will never hear the bark of protection in the night.
To all those without a dog…..you must recognize that the warm loving dark eyes that look at you with respect and love will be a thrill for someone else.
To all those who are without a dog….do not squander the chance, do not look down another road for love and friendship…..it waits posed on four beautiful legs …staring and asking for your heart.

Time is a vicious enemy, it creates crevices of pain in both the face and the lonely heart.
There is no way that a lonely man with a world of motivation
can have a brand new start.
I am old , the wrinkles are a giveaway, the energy and weakness
tells the story
Full of blood and torment, of anger, and sadness all that's crude
and gory.
I need a soul on point,  someone to believe, with a suit of fearless
steel
someone to convince me that all the things that scare me
just aren't real.
Can you be that leader the one that will stand over me be on guard
and protect me
or will you leave me when the war begins  to leave a world of souls
alone to be
Just let me know if I should shine my armour and be prepared to
stand alone
or watch from the sidelines  in frozen ****** fear
and sit and cry a single tear.

Time is flying by and I have little heart to fly with it.
I try and find a path to travel, in a place I won’t get hit,
But enemies like gravel, get stuck in all our shoes
And I fight them every single day, like a drunk who pays his dues.
A feast is in the woods ahead, I see it in the corner of my eye
I hope I can prepare myself so northern nights won’t make me cry.
I will dance in sparkling firelight with the woman of my life
She pretends I’m in another place and perhaps she’s not my wife.
Can’t say that I can lay the blame, my warmth has dwindled down
To where my heat is something like a dark and dingy town
Full of ghosts and memories that haunt whatever moves
Like a bent and worn out needle trying to find the grooves.
Time is such a wicked thing, whether it comes or goes
It always finds the secret path that no one ever knows.

I am a time traveler, I move quietly from today to tomorrow,
I am an ill traveler; I dance with pain and sing with sorrow.
“Who goes there” they call to me, deep in the night,
Not easing my pain, but just causing more fright.
I swing on a star sent by the pill, and swim in goblets of wine
I pray for release, I cling to a dream, one that’s sweet and divine.
I hear the music that all others miss; I taste the river of love
I feel the pounding, down deep in the earth, sent by something above.
As a traveler I go just a day at a time, so much to my dismay,
But if days were words and I was young, I’d still have little to say.
I wait for the spring its effortless growth feeling so warm and green
I lie in a field watching a dream, knowing it’s already been seen.
I drift over clouds, billowed and white, lined with silver they say,
But I fall through the cracks holding my pack onward to a new day.

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!

The weight of a huge chipped and worn rock lies upon our shoulders
it threatens our air supply, our energy is low and we are weak.
What little air breaks through is merely dust and dirt simply
meant to hinder our escape, to force us to scream in pain.
We will not....we will hold our breath until the clean sweet air of life
feeds us and stirs our souls and hearts to carry on. We will not weaken
again, we will not allow rocks and dust and wind and rain and scars from our past to prevent us from breaking free....we are different....we have more ....we are stronger and better.
We have purpose, meaning and time. We will fight and be wise and use love and wisdom and courage to protect and guide us.
If either of us is left alone the other will carry one with a soul resting on their shoulder for guidance and love .......we are a team.

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.

I wait as patient as a man of age can be
I do not know just what I expect to see
I sleep the sleep of a painful aging soul
knowing it is far too late to be whole.
The world I know is trembling badly
I hold on tightly with my heart beating madly.
I would dance to one more lonely song
but being old all my steps would be wrong.
Maybe I will be luckier the next time
or maybe be a beggar clutching his last dime.
Tomorrow just remains unknown and blank
but the smell of impending death is rank.
Will I be the lucky one and skate on thin ice
or will I be the one that pays for all his vice
That is what tomorrow holds for me
so I will simply have to wait and see.

Fighting demons daily and avoiding dreams at night
can cause ones loss of hearing and sometimes loss of sight.
Reaching out for a branch to grab or a rope for you to hold
makes one feel so weak and yet so terribly bold.
I am waiting and calling for a lifeline to save my hidden soul
but all I get is promises that swear I will be whole.
Where can you turn, who can you really trust
what can you do, the sun gets hot and your heart will rust.
There is no god to throw a line so you just try to stay awake
sometimes it  isn't even really for your own sake.
You fight the vicious world and bleed until your done
when it comes right down to it you're the only one.

Often times at my dreadful old age I wonder at my value
My worth is something that may at this stage still be due
What might I do to fix this world or even this tiny home
Would anyone even notice if my soul decided to roam
Our value is determined but what we can contribute
Not by the anguish or pain that we may distribute
I have not the courage to simply fly to that place
Where all the worthless will sleep and take up space
So I find myself inflicting nuisance on those I love
Where I have never fit like a warm winter glove
Perhaps the latest sneak attack on my very being
Will allow me the simple privilege of finally seeing
Maybe at last end my brutal waste of time and air
I wonder then will anyone with a mind really care
Like millions of others in my sad world of fear and doubt
I must wait and see what wondering about value is really all about

WHC 2024

In solitude with the devil's tune
I wait and ponder fate
Torn between the now and then,
I balance love and hate.
The magnitude of loneliness
looms across the room,
trembling as I try to sleep,
I hold the hand of doom.
The game is never ending
because I've yet to hear my name,
ringing to the multitudes
exalting words and fame.

Hair the colour of wheat with a backdrop of crashing waves,
near the cliffs of hardened stone with the dark and hidden caves.
She sits and walks her friends until her soul is hard and cold
her beauty is what saves her from the fate of growing old.
She has a heart the size of an Island, and eyes that always shine
The only flaw that I can find is this lady isn’t mine.
The wires allow our words to touch and our lonely eyes to meet,
But to wrap my arms around her is an unknown dream like feat.
I wait each day for a word or two, a sign her world is right,
But I go to bed with an aching soul in the heavy dark of night.
What I want is taken and so many roads to walk,
I work each solitary day waiting for that chance to talk.
I want to touch that face of ivory and feel the hair of gold
I want to revel in her warmth before I get too old.
Carol your quite amazing , that’s a chord that rings so true
And you my love remember , these words are just for you.

Each time it gets harder to dig up words with real meaning
I feel like an actor walking in to his first screening.
Its not important to anyone but me what I stumble to write
It is sad in this bitter world that finding words is such a fight
I want the trees to be greener, the flowers to last longer
I want the sky to stay blue and my mind to stay stronger
I want illness to just simply leave town for ever more
Just leave my life and on the way out don’t slam the door
I want to give more to the ones that I love so much
I want them closer to me daily so I feel their touch
It seems I have an awful lot of wants within my soul
When I find them all I will finally feel somewhat whole.

WHC….2024

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.

Gentle whispers stir me on to places I've never been
steering me towards the many stars I've never seen.
Perhaps a trip to paradise will sometime lead me home,
then I will no longer search or feel the need to roam.
I know the road will end somewhere that's warmer then today,
and never a need to strive for happier things to say.
Do we all follow special paths that force us to dream
lost in wonder and magic where things aren't what they seem?
There is no shame in wishing just sadness in losing the chance
to hear the beautiful music and share the wonderful dance.

The teasing lines that draw me in,
from December’s cold to you,
The haunting voice that fills my head,
when a fleeting glance would do.
Bring it close, hold it near
we mustn’t let it fade.
I live to touch, I live to feel
the rainbows that you’ve made.
A veil of velvet hides my face,
as you turn and walk away
And I search within a world of words
for something new to say.
Like sweet hellos and sad goodbyes
its all been said before.
As frightening as an epitaph
is the closing of the door.
Watch the sun and watch the moon
as they fall down from the sky,
hear the sound as they hit the earth.
My eyes will ask you why?

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.