I don't remember when it started,
The need to baby sit the world.
It gets so tiring sometimes,
A tremendous burden to bear.

The constancy of forethought,
The conscientious words of harmony.
Seek it first to make it last.  
Maker of Peace wherever you go.

If 55 is "the new 45", why am I cleaning out cabinets like I'm meeting Jesus tomorrow?

I used to write of rainbows and sunsets and the boy with the bright blue eyes.
Lamented love and youthful scribblings were the secrets of my heart.

Pebbles and stones have pelted my mind and my words
As I've grown gray with maturity.
The pains of truth are real.

I long for those days when musings were simple and thoughtless.
Yet I know the written path of struggle is still comforted by the boy with the bright blue eyes.

It's time to take my place.
Step to the head of the line.
The reigning heir of heritage,
I didn't ask for, but received.

Another passing, then two more,
Finds me waiting at the door.
Reality is this ebbing tide,
Prepares me for my final ride.

The face of death, I'll stare it down!
Time is sparing yet I know,
There's more behind me than ahead.
I'll very gladly step aside, than find that I am dead.

I walked hand in hand with my granny great
To the road where the lilacs bloom.
Instant love, what can I say, I was smitten.
Something about the plentiful scene of stalks and scent captured so early in my childhood mind,
Resonates with me still.
55 Lilacs with a random chance of luck at an out of season suprise.
How many times will grace my door?
Here's hoping for the blessing of many more, many more, many more....

Welcome Wagon Dragons,
a hundred to one.
Genuinely kind,
to dropping passive aggressive words
in an overly firm handshake.

Measuring the passing of time
by the expiration dates on my yogurt.