With bleeding eyes
I write…

Seems as if I’m in depression.
But, I still enjoy it sometimes…

The paradox about him which began at his fifty,- Intensified at sixty…

Do you listen to our songs?
Do you do things we did?…

Stung by thrills of the Dream
I mused one night and felt…

Young women these days,
some young women, that is…

All have been taught
And taught well I might add…

In the tender arms
Of profound bleakness…

Firewood’s crackling, flames raging
Other than the sounds of murmured…

Better to love and lost
Than to never love at all…

Once there was a guy named Present
Wanting nothing but happiness…

No matter how good I do.
No matter how good I be…

That happiness was killing me
silently and softly…

A lot of them like to ponder
Some like to show wonder…

If it can be given a name,
As it seems a see-saw game…