PUFFS OF PINK FOR ME

The fog yawns long and wide.
Flowers have given up the fight.
There is nowhere to hide
From grey’s terminal blight.
One tree withstands the night,
Growing to immense height.
No one else is in sight
to witness its lone fight.
Grey mist ends the...

 

The fog yawns long and wide.

Flowers have given up the fight.

There is nowhere to hide

From grey’s terminal blight.

 

One tree withstands the night,

Growing to immense height.

No one else is in sight

to witness its lone fight.

 

Grey mist ends the day.

Some color I must see.

Hanging in the grey,

Soft puffs of pink for me.

 

SOLITUDE

SOLITUDE

A rare commodity is solitude.
It can be easily misunderstood.
To be all alone with no one else around.
You can do this in the air or on the ground.
You can sail off in the blue sea,
Or hop on a plane without me.
We can all use some time alone.
Without T.V. or telephone.
Time to think about your goal.
You will come back feeling whole.

SILENT

SILENT

Can you hear the silence?
It moves.
Like a breathing, living being.
Deeper into the woods,
The silence moves with me.
By my side.
Watching me.
Waiting for any sound
I might make.
For then,
It could silence me.
Forever.

A GHOST OF ME

I sit on the bench,
watching the sun take flight,
and the moon move to position.
The stars begin to shine 
in the darkening sky.
All is well with the world.
The night will soon be here.

But all is not well with me.
I feel light.
I feel empty.
I feel transparent.
A ghost of my former self.
What has happened to me?
How will I go on?

One day life changed for me.
And all I had taken for granted
was gone in a second.
How will I go on living?
There is no one here on the bench,
but a ghost of me.

DEAFENING SILENCE

Desolate.

Alone.

Stark.

Cold.

Empty.

Sitting on a hill.

No houses nearby.

Only the comfort

of a bare tree.

The wind rattles

through my open beams.

Snow drifts in from my roof.

No peace.

Only cold.

And deafening silence.

Will it always be so?

Will the sun shine ever again?

Will horses return to my stables?

I could only wait and hope.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE

What will it feel like

at the end?

On your last road,

at your last stop.

No more road signs.

No more signals.

Only dead silence.

No people.

No lights.

No sounds.

Memories flitting by.

Old smells.

Then darkness.

No!

I want to go out

with a bang!

A parade.

A marching band,

with music and laughter.

Let’s wait for the parade.

I can hear it in the distance.

DUST IN THE WIND

To be alone.

Under a tree.

In a garden.

No people.

No sounds.

Only the birds chirping.

The smell of the grass.

The heat of the sun.

What is that sound?

Oh, the wind rustling the leaves.

How beautiful.

How relaxing.

How perfect.

Oh no.

I hear more sounds.

It’s turning dark.

The sun has retreated.

Someone is coming.

I can’t see who it is.

It can’t be.

I’m dust in the wind.