I dare not hold you,
not the fear of spilling your drink
It is the constant reminder,
how you can change in just a blink.
You are the one I try to love ,
try  Oh how true...
useless to to give that a thought
when the alchol hits you.
Walked in rain and screamed to the skies,
who created such a thing!!!!
Those lips that should be touching mine,
poisoned with this drink.
Eyes that should see clear the bridges that she burns,
focus on nothing else but the next glass that she yearns.
From her perch, the barstool throne, empires crumble
at her feet.
Not caring as she grasps her refilled glass,
tomorrow's empty sheets.

http://authspot.com/short-stories/and-so-it-came-to-pass/

Ti's a sad thing when the mind closes down,
that last trick on our life as Death  starts his prowl.
Leaves the body with no warming thoughts,
memories of life lived full of joy and love.
Or perhapes it is not such a tragedy,
a way  compassion joins peace of mind in company.
Yet , here the living still find it a pain,
looking in the eyes of love , never to recall again.

Growing up too  fast and worry about the  dance she missed.
The World  seems so wrong when a teenager has a kid.
The social circle seems to pass her by,
hear her  on the cell phone as she starts to cry.
Want to hold her, she is still so much a child.
Reasure her that life has not passed her by.
Let her know the worth of the treasure she hold.
Find more comfort in her child then any friends she could ever own.
Her heart  may skip a beat ,
some day it will be worth the pain  from the child she keeps.
I know right now she has got the teenager blues,
some day  she will be able to get through the grey and see the blue.
Right now I just hold them  both , mother and child.
Daughter and grand daughter, just rest and relax, close your eyes.
My heart skips a beat.

http://authspot.com/poetry/newborn-let-the-journey-begin/

They met here, not by plan but chance,
an exchange of ideas, melody, poetry,
not romance.
Each day their time and exchanges grew longer,
the strings of support becoming ever much stronger.
The words and poetry came much easier then,
the melody and lyrics rushed out of them,
yet neither knew nor confessed,
that better as two, they did their best.
The winds carried their  poetry to a listening crowd.
They gathered regular at the Corner, ready to be wow'd.
Too  much  into each others poetry exchanges,
the two continued....yet everywhere, somewhere.
things are a changing.
Who knows which one  found themself to far,
had made a promise to not get envolved.
One day the Corner only presented one,
that poet  realized the absence,  the music was gone.
Poetry and music, lyrics and words,
still on the Corner today can be heard.
The regular still come and they want to be wow'd.
One lonely poet tries to please them some how.

Oh my Love, your leaving me has taken the warmth from my veins.
Replaced it with a  river of steel that burns,
forever crashing with misery and pain.
  The lift has been taken from the wings of love,
as I am no longer cradled there with you,
I am here now , earth bound, alone....it's true..
..you are gone.
           The songs  of joy, once so resoundful,
no longer ring in my ears.
The only  sound that echoes now, the knock on the door
I had feared.
This stone that marks the place where my Love now lays,
has become my alter, my place I seek,
each and every day.
Oh my Love you leaving me has taken the warmth from my veins.
I dream of us , talk of us, whish.....until we meet again.



This is a dedication. We all think of widows during War, primarily as the females role. In modern conflicts, this role has become a shared pain. Freedom comes with  a cost. Not all price tags are visible.