Will it be
The elder green with less luscious
blossoms
Or shall the younger tender petals
Steal
All the Golden from the mountains
Rushing down the hillsides gushing
Renewal
Or
Is it noted in the dirt and loam
The sacred parts of earthly home
Shared each nutrient and called not a one, ever, their own
Has such been histories norm can written tableus reveal
These truths or are they found
In hearts of steel in minds
That see beyond the limits
Who see
What is truly real

Anyone say they are sorry,
               Anymore.

It seems
All things
Begin and end
As daydream
Forms
A torn
Piece of a
Skirt left
one broken
Shard of
Colored glass
A folder
With only
One match
Left
The torn
And tat-
tered....
scattered
Bout as
Remnant frames
In
Scrapbooks
Loose
Granite forms
In memoriam
Fragile and mortal
When true
Love Is
No more

The love of my life has passed. I am devastated and ripped. My life seems ended.

To my baby, if only I had one more day.

Even just an hour , I could go on.

DiAnne, my soul mate, i need you more than any breath or water.

I shall remember you and keep you close in my heart as I always did.

Many years ago

    another place,
                        another time,

I felt the beating of your heart,
beating together with mine.

The starlight
    on the water,
         the glow
            of the full moon,
               I remember us,
                  the melody
                     of our eternal tune.

Scents of the Magnolias,
the soft feel of our kiss,
the love that was invoked,
   true everlasting bliss.

Whispering breeze melodies,
waking with you each morn,

     ultimate love,
                    strong and true,
forever
           with you reborn.

Forever our love shall linger,
no amount of time can undo,
   even in the vail of death,
I will forever remember you.

Many years ago

another place,
                    another time,
the beating of your heart,
beating together
                     with mine.

Another Place, Another Time......
~

How vain
     ,thin the
         Paper skin
Coarse, now, built
  Through years of pen and brush
           Dabs and strokes of scent and skins
           Of sights ,  sound
     smell of rosebuds melding.  
          lips wrote thick upon the canvas
turned from micron thin
  into impact on a ground layer upon
layer deep where senses melt all
      Into one  
Bright some bold, a grey that holds
          A mystery of depth,
     Wealth unsold like souls
        remembered loves you'll
            never lose, or
                 grow  old