My love, I know, I know sweet love,
You used alcohol and drugs to stop the war in your head.
It never did stop raging within, as you raged without.  

The Viet Cong didn't get a bullet into you.
But the ****** was cheap and to a combat soldier, sweet.
So, I guess, they killed you slowly, softly.

You had been handsome, gregarious, and brilliant even.
I would help you clean yourself up, put you back together
Only to have you load that "gentle bullet" and fire it into your arms.

Stopping things in your head means eventually becoming brain-dead.
I saw the beautiful, intelligent man that you were become stupid.
Killed by that slow-moving, gentle bullet.

But it was not merciful.
It was not gentle.
Was it, my love?

(I borrowed part of a concept from Nolan Bucsis.)

You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.

I told you:
"You are killing yourself.  Don't you understand?"
You did.

I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.

And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.

You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.

They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.

You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.

Reality should soon set in, I warn you.
We are coming into that time of the year,
When temperatures rise and energy is too costly
As wages go down and prices climb higher.

Yes, we have failed ourselves and one another.
You will see those hungry faces looking for a crust.
While you are grateful for a roof and a bed
Hunger will continue to spread even to you.

As the insurance they paid into is cut off
The elderly will swelter and die in the heat.
As others look on, unable to sustain themselves
Or save precious others.

My mind: Go from here!
And do not grace my door again,
Nor walk across this floor.

Yes, old habits die so hard
And often these leave you
Screaming for more.

But I am no longer addicted to you.

The sky was filled
With the most
Beautiful shades of gray

We don't often
Think of gray
As being beautiful

There is a depth
To this color
And much nuance

There are many
Shades of gray
There is gray

With a pink tinge
Gray like charcoal
And icy gray

Dusty-rose is but
Rose with gray
What gray is should be

Black and white, after all

In a forest, I hugged a tree
And this tree spoke to me.
It said I have branches above
And I have branches beneath.
I have leaves for photosynthesis,
Just look at my wondrous work.
I take in carbon to release oxygen,
I allow you to be able to breathe,
As I take sunlight into my leaves.
Take off your shoes.
Feel this life with your feet,
The process continues below.
Beneath your very feet
A highway for travel exists.
My roots, pushing through
The soil in hairy branches
Spreading out in all directions.
With chemical trails, they speak
To tell bacteria to wake up!
My sweet treat takes up, then
Share with our microbe friends.
Dear human, I want you to know
The phyla inside me and inside you
Are four and exactly the same.
Together we can feed all life.

We shelter in place with our shadows
With eyes darting back and forth in fear,
Wondering what might come creeping near.
Thoughts haunt us in every place and every space.

Painful detritus blocks the doorway of release.
We can only wander from room to room in grief.
Trapped within an encumbered mind, we find
Blacked-out portals of foil-covered windows, all!

Our fears only serve to make us each feel small.
But we are not small, not at all.  We can win the race
If we allow Grace to shovel a path through the mess,
And Hope grasps our hand and leads us out.

This is why it is said: We all need Hope.