There's No Two Alike

Wonder why I drift my words
into letters on a page?

I do it to empty my head,
my body,
my blood.
To rid my soul of everything
stuck inside for so long.

To say "So Long!"
Let life go on,
and enjoy the grace
laid in front of my merciful eyes.

Whether those (of importance)
have looked at me with the eyes
of ignorance and denial-

Have any idea of who I forgot to be,
or who I've become. . .

I STILL AM!

And I find myself
making the point over and over.

Comparisons couldn't be exacts,
so I'll let honesty speak for itself.

The Need To Be Heard

 I have so many things to say. 

So much to tell the world. 

With no crowd to hear a thing

I gather everyone I know, 

pull them close, and start talking.

I wonder if I can say it all

before I forget or before I grow 

a bit old to talk it out.

Every word to hold close and dear

I hope they don't fall on deaf ears.

I’m only asking my world 

to acknowledge that I exist, 

and to listen while I’m alive.

I leave the world with a written word, 

if I grow too old to speak out loud.

Could You Imagine the Phobia?

On a fine warm day,
the last date you remember-
hints of December 8, 2019.

You take a second to soak
in the summery scenery.
The rich green grass
beneath a picnic table.

You find yourself seated
in a park with
unfamiliar company.
They sound familiar with you,
you unrest an oddity
of what should be-
December 9.

An immense sadness,
an immediate panic
enters your blood
and travels intense, through.

A sudden understanding of
what's happened once before.
You ask around the table
with a furrow in your brow.
You realize you don't know
where you're at,
or who you're sitting with.

You speak a sudden,
"What year is it?
What's today's date?"

They stop their chatter,
their laughter,
their banter,
look with concern,
 look with no answer.

Try to check your phone,
but there's no phone in sight.

Panic again.
Search for your spouse.
No answer must mean,

a thought occurs to you;
Even they aren't aware
of the time or the day,
or what's happened to me.

It's all such a mystery.

You arise, frantic, from the table
in search of someone,
anyone who knows.

Asking the year, time, date.
No one seems coherent enough to know.

A sudden epiphany,
and you know to search
for a white coat to question.

SAD

 The light casts a feathery white shadow on my blackened back.

Pulling me out of the dark,  a place I felt I’d be forever.

I’d dance myself out 

of the darkness and into the light.

Who knew happiness 

could be so easy to achieve.

As easy as the seasons 

change from winter to spring.

I’m automatic, 

I’ve got nature’s disease.