Two years ago this idea came about. As I move toward the spring. I write a lot at this time of the year. I feel like I have had this pattern of hiding and not writing a lot in the fall season and winter. It is California people. It is already Spring. Here’s the reflection.
New not found anywhere else
65 down,
65 to go,
65 years of going slow,
Slow at healing,
Slow at peeling,
Slowly never not yelling,
Faster you went at making a dent,
Poverty was just paying rent,
White walls covered the rest,
I had You, like a treasured chest,
Now I am in the meadows,
Now I am in the open,
65 more years with you?
Not sure what I will do,
Not sure where I will live,
Can I lay down the noise?
The first part was about you,
Now it is about me,
I am to cluttered upstairs
To see,
65 years you have to me,
65 of letting them go,
65 dollars you paid me,
Paid me to copy your
Voice onto the cd,
Now it is done,
Stills spins,
Still sits as another thing
I spent,
To get rid of something
You can’t pay to fade away,
Those memories,
They costed a lot,
They to are with me
Still
THE RUCKUS JOURNAL 