Depression

 

There is no one reason, some remain depressed.

One could be, a fear to stand before – undressed,

looking at all their natural beauty – glory repressed.

Never to see, to feel, to know reality- their story suppressed.

 

A dear john letter ?

I have moved on to better !, ?

Winter winds tearing at our relationship.

The fires of those winter storms, burn deep,

scorching the fragile fabric of spring,

of summer, of the decaying hours of autumn.

 

This, leaving me feeling, as the deserted beaches,

hammered by relentless waves crashing down.

The essence, the face, lost after being touched

by the raging, thrashing waves of spring tides.

 

Lost, after being caressed, fondled by summer waves.

Lost, after being cleansed by autumns thrashing surf.

Lost, after being ripped to shreds by winters door closing,

on all that once could have been something better.

 

Moving on

A coarse, I believe, you have always been taking.

It has been a long time, in fact, years in the making.

The earth upon which you / we have walked is shaking.

There is no longer, any good reason for you to be faking

 

all – that I feel – have been the reasons for this braking.

I do not – for one second – blame you for moving on.

I understand why what you may have had is all gone.

For the light you so desperately sought, never shone

 

upon the dreams you had of me.

The dreams that I would never see.

For they were of someone I could never be,

in this world of mine, where being free

 

from all that tears at this fragile heart,

of which I no longer want any part

of, and for many good  reasons

of which, in my final seasons,

 

need not – ever again – want to become a part of my life.

For, at my age, and with all my experiences, strife

would only be the stiletto, a dagger, a keen knife

that cuts deep into the heart and brings nothing but rife

 

to this old man’s days and nights as he stands

at the threshold of new ways, in new lands

where there may be no foot prints in the sands

as life changes. moves on, is out of one’s hands

 

B. J. “A ” 2

May 19^th 2004