Years End

We celebrate the end,

The new beginnings and chances to make all things right.

To forget the past.

Yet the fact is,

We celebrate survival.


A December Morning Thought

There’s something comforting about sitting in a darken room on an early Sunday morning with just the tree lights twinkling and window candles lit, their single light sending a quiet guiding message of welcome into the morning darkness.

Comforting to have a loyal companion curled by your side and knowing the person you are madly in love with sleeps soundly and safely upstairs.

The soft melancholy sound of Elizabethan chorale music floating through the room is joined by the grandfather clock chiming the quarter hour and then back to the even tick tock, as it measures time.

The aches of the body and age melt away as remembrances of previous Christmases and family now gone play upon memories stage.

It is this time of day, that moment caught between the gray shade of night and mellow gray of morning that I love. The awakening of the world outside with morning bird songs and the yawn of nature.


One More Day


I wish,
I had one more day,
To say the things I feel.
One more day
To tell the truth,
One more hug,
One more smile,
One more “I love you.”
The years have gone by so quickly
But your leaving seems like a sunset ago.
So much left unsaid.
I’ve rehearsed what I would say
And wondered
If you’ve heard me,
Or read my thoughts
In your eternal rest.

Just one more day,
One more day.


Journey’s End

Beyond the white drifts
Of Winter’s cold crystals,
Is journey’s end.

A destination
Started so long ago.

It’s hidden out of view,
Just on the other side
Of the approaching vale,
And nestled near the glen
Of all my dreams.


It’s Alright


As a small boy,
When bad dreams caused me to wake in tears,
Mother’s hands would softly stroke my head,
Her tender voice would calm me,

“It’s alright my son
I’m right beside you.”

Youth brought scraped knees
Plus many growing pains.
Mother tended my wounds,
And soothed my frustrations,

“It’s alright my son
I’m right beside you.”

When adulthood came,
It found me in uniform.
A nation in conflict upon a foreign soil.
Mother’s letters would arrive,

“It’s alright my son
I’m right beside you.”

Careers have come and gone,
I’ve search for myself
In varied identities,
And always my Mother’s prayers,

“It’s alright my son
I’m right beside you.”

Recently, Mother passed away
As gently as she lived.
The other night, as tho in childhood again,
A dream caused me to wake in tears,
And I heard my Savior’s voice,

“It’s alright my son
I’m right beside you.”


The Birthday Card

My heart is a playground for pain,
A schoolyard for children’s games
And I am caught in a world of solitary doubt.
I come to all with open arms,
Only to be tossed aside, useless, scorned
By friends and foe alike.
The search to find a companion
Is like the mariners of old
In quest of the new lands,
The new wealth, the new beauty
With the promise of life afresh.
Many I have spent time with,
Yet none return to seek solace
Or give freely
To this out of step rogue of a different age.
Love was in my arms once upon a dream,
And I held it tight to my chest,
Only to wake alone
And forgotten,
A memory upon a card.


The Dream

Pardon me,
I really don’t mean to disturb,
But have you seen my dream?
You see, I’ve lost it
And well, maybe you might know where it’s gone.

Please, don’t leave.
It might not seem important
And yes, it was a child’s dream
But men need to hold onto a part of their childhood.

Find another dream.
No. I couldn’t do that.
You see, the others been with me for a long time.
Its been a faithful friend in times of despair,
A comfort when lonely,
So a new dream wouldn’t be the same.

Yes, I dream’t many things as a child
But this one, well it’s special
And I want to find it again,
For you see,
I need the dream and the dream needs me.

You’re right,
Dreams are just illusions.
Reality is built on many peoples dreams,
Illusions cemented together by a union
Of hard work; want; faith; love
And ignited in the heart
By a child’s dream.

You tell me to find a new dream.
No. For mine was unique and it was mine.
One of the few original parts
Of my spirit and being.

You can tell me that it was age,
Or when we grow-up we leave behind the youthful innocence,
But I’ll search on
And maybe in the near future,
I’ll round the corner,
And there with out stretched hands
Will be an old friend,
My dream, Smiling and asking,
“Where did you go?
I’ve been here all the time,
Waiting for you.”