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My faith was never a beacon of light
more of a flickering candle at night.
My Father’s beliefs were always strong
perhaps somehow I got it all wrong.
In spite of those hymns I love to sing
for me it’s more a borderline thing.
But I see things in a different way
I don’t spend time praying each day.
For me God’s love is practical too
shared with others in the things we do.
Through help we give to those in need
whoever they are, whatever their creed.
Call me Old Soul
For I have come long and far
An incorporeal Traveler
A human spirit drifting beyond mortal bars
Once I knew of form
Felt the warmth of Sun on skin
But then my Life and World ended
My eternal Soul this trek to begin
In wake of Great War's destruction
My mind survived intact
And freed from a Body's limits
I fled Earth's Tomb never to look back
Wormhole Prophecy
Round and round the story goes
without a rhyme or reason
simply imitating prose
that varies with each season
muses change and voices heard
often unexpected
but the safety of the word
is jealously protected
A Soldier’s legacy
The silence of the enemy
who made my blood run cold
is aging me quite rapidly
yes, I am growing old
Electric blues and jungle shoes
have preyed upon my youth
and stranded me in fantasy
unrecognized by truth
How can a bird fly
With a broken wing
What is marriage without a ring
Would it still be worth a try
What is an ear that cannot hear
How can music play without a beat
Would the dancers need their feet
Can an aching heart feel a lone tear
What if rain never fell
On a green lush dell
What if you could not hear a bell
Ringing for mass, would you go to hell
What of the vast sea
If not for artic melting ice
No evaporation for a cloud to wet a tree
Our view would not be so nice
times have began to elapse
generations seem to have been lost
who is to be in a lapse?
elderly have not made such boast
whom are we to slaughter?
proud is not the nation of today
young has not been found as yet
years of decades have seen a day
later how to be a pet
witness the hate and say
they have laid it and set
why should we give back a pay
all ancestors did was to rest
whom are we to judge?
Finding the favor of a new start
with a process flowing down stream
emotions like love, comfort and passion became
a mainstay for returning to a human with life.
My mother passed oh very hard to accept
three years pass and my daughter died being only 30.
Parts of my soul were healing at a slower rate.
Years passed age of life were differences in health.
Maybe thirty years left before going home
with the thought of my final place of rest
receiving lighting grace.
l
The golden rain
of summers days
which bite the skin
like freezing pain
The circles made
upon the trails
in puddles dance
and then they fade
A rainbow floats
across a lake
a gasp is caught
in frozen throats
then nature mourns
the loss of sun
while birds do drink
and blow their horns
to find a muse
in written words
intoxicates
like drinking booze
Watching the rhythmic rise and fall
of the breathing,
of the man
that was my Dad.
The family sitting in various positions
of anxiety.
Holding their breath
with each uncoordinated spasm and jerk.
Occasional disjointed speech,
riddles and ramblings.
drifting in and out,
slow, slurred words
struggle to form.
A different breathing pattern
deeper,
peaceful ,
drops back to shallow,
monitored by anxious eyes.
A storm is brewing in my head
It is filled with fear and dread
Not knowing if I am alive or dead
I just hide covered in my bed
Only thoughts of escape repeat echoes
Like chimney smoke that bellows
With ghosts who are unfriendly fellows
The minds screen filled with death’s gallows
Body kicking, body twitching, last rights
No thought of fantasies flights
The rewinding of life, like lost kites
Eyes searching for the sparks of lights
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