Portrait

Scribbling fruitless lines over parchment
With a halting pen;
The ink smudges and surges,
Forming a picture.
Thick framed glasses hiding jewel-like eyes
That held a world of knowledge.
An ear that, despite its need for hearing-aid
Truly listened to my words.
A voice, turned gravelly and feeble
That still rang with conviction during a debate.
Veined hands, aching, shaking from overuse,
Writing the story of life.
Feet encased in leather sandals, walking-stick in hand
As you walked in the garden, inspecting its growth.
A soul weakened with time, vulnerable, confused,
But still stronger than our half-broken minds.
My evening-star, my guiding-light:
Fruitless scribbles try to repaint, as I wallow in directionless night.

Stagnation

Mindless swirls penned on the margin of my page
Thoughtless thoughts swirling on the surface
Vacant eyes staring into an unknown horizon
Still, unmoving, unlike the chalk on the blackboard.

Mosquitos breed undisturbed in shallow puddles
A reminder of yesterdays rejuvinating showers
Shapeless white clowds sit on the sky
Still, unmoving, forgetting to roil.

Trudging minds from day to day following motions
They have followed yesterday and the day before
Running, screaming, falling, fighting, drowning
But, really, still unmoving, forgetting to rise.
Forgetting to live.

Let it Rain

Let it rain, let it pour,
Take away what was before;
Wash away the scars and stains.
Let it rain.

Dark comfort in a sky too bright;
Blankets of fleece helps to hide from the light;
Let it rain.

Dried leaves of fear shiver in the wind;
Carried away as the storm sweeps in;
Let it rain.

The sky splits open for a moment of hope;
Electric, the future that unfolds;
Let it rain.

Deep murmurs of a yesterday's lies;
Grumbles annoyed at being left behind;
Let it rain. 

Prickly showers, a reminder of life;
Salt and sweet drops mingle in delight;
Let it rain.

Let it rain, let it pour,
Take away what was before;
Wash away the yesterday's refrain.
Let it rain.

Lonesome Hearts

He went three sheets to the wind
To 'scape the everyday cyclone,
Drowned his sorrows in the flask
In a fist that never loosened its grip.
Never once did he look behind him,
Never once looked ahead,
Never reached out his hands for help.
Her fingers twined with his anyway.

Running from life, running from truth,
She found quiet in a guitar's chords:
Letters spilled as harmony,
A verse without words.
Lost and insecure, she ran ahead, ahead, ahead,
Never looking back, never breaking her tread.
Not once did she stop her frantic race.
He stood beside her anyway.

So they run as they have done before
Lonely as ever, just not alone anymore.

rose of yester-years

A red red rose he gave her for their first valentine,
Trembling fingers stored it in a journal,
Shining eyes softened at the sight.
The book was opened oft that year.

Now yellowed pages gather dust, as they have done for years.
In between lies still a not-quite-forgotten token:
Its blush lost, its youth stripped away,
A labyrinth of silver veins — stark.
In them flows the beauty of age, in them the eternity of love.