It occurred to me earlier this year that, in less than two years time, I will be twice the age I was when my mother passed away. I get curious about what she would have thought about my writing. Sure, she read what little I had written back then, some of which was decent for the age I was when it was written. I can only hope she never found any of my terribly bad, love-sick poems from high school — I can’t even stand to read those now. I’m just curious if she would have enjoyed what I’ve written in the past few years.
I wasn’t writing much around that time, mostly just song lyrics. These were my poems set to music, words I limited to rhyme and rhythm. I’ve written very few poems since then, but once in a while the inspiration hits and I crank out a few lines. Nothing amazing, nothing so very noteworthy, but something just enough to clarify my thoughts, just for me.
But, hey! I have a blog! So why not share my depressing poetry with the rest of you?
Four more seasons have come and gone And still no reasons that rhyme
Just life unbridled, unexpected
Fabricated memories of grand moments I will never have
And the ugly, real ones I will never be rid of
It won’t be long before I’ve spent more time without her than with
A wicked Cajun Fairy named Robes Pierre entered the impenetrable Magical doll land of Sha Bebe. Queen Faustina, the ruler of the doll land, thought she had destroyed him, but he's back! Will the doll land survive his evil ways?
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