It is sad how life changes, emotions dwindle
as the light of passion with the years subside-
And I try to hold on, something must be worth
to keep tucked away when it’s cold outside
and loneliness grabs on, something left to spindle
in the everyday that was left from life-
Moving on it’s easier if there’s a place to go
and fresh ground to sow seeds we never scattered,
hoping maybe passion finds a place to rise
and in late Spring blooming our dreams left shattered
into something new may then sprout and grow.
“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”
― Robert Louis Stevenson
In young death we live forever-
Time stripping dreams from aging flesh never
as never footprints to fade on paper roads
while life slowly unraveled
into a short lived story condemned
to an existence of words we penned.
And age turn emotions into regrets
when love carelessly forgets
to stop by and stay.
So we die young to keep sins at bay
hidden in rhymes written in haste,
for years past youth become waste
if dead poets live forever-
In the cold of spring’s eve, I thread wishes
into the fabric of my life, tattered and frayed
with years leaving marks in the stitches
left from past lovers and harsh winters.
I taunt the flesh while I slowly fade
into the emptiness of days, forgotten
and lost in between the wrinkles of time
while I pause to contemplate what’s mine,
and with trembling fingers I seek
the tenderness weaved underneath.