The memories fade and the sounds and the faces disappear. Where do the forgotten memories go?

They float within the ether we ingest to survive. They exist to remind us that we once felt…

Another group of words, jumbled and laid out to express my late life frustrations.

The seeds you planted have bloomed into roses, a beauty so sharp with thorns to match.

She stands waiting for the F, she is put together nicely and inspires second glances and an impetus for shaken fragility.

Old people shake, we shake out of frustrations and limitations. How many times can one reject our needs and hopes?

“Working class hero,” a song by John Lennon, succinctly explains how people are force fed life and have the marrow of their lives, hopes and dreams vacuumed out of them.

My parents tried to teach me but I just didn’t want to listen or hear about reality.

Life’s truth is thrust upon you unexpectedly causing a whiplash affect on your soul.

You keep walking, hoping and dreaming.

It’s more of a limp than a stride, but nevertheless, you keep on going until you come face to face with your truth.

A lot of truth is littered with trash and lies. Printing a tattoo on your heart, “broken.”

Just as a child longs for love and a walk in the desert inspires hallucinations…you find yourself lost and engulfed in the flames of age.

She looks so sweet, short skirt and a half unbuttoned collared shirt falling upon her. You think to yourself and then you realize it’s a lost cause. You turn away to avoid staring and you do the crossword on your phone.

You know the answers and the clues are on the tip of your tongue.

The train comes into the station. The young lady stays on the platform. I walk into the subway car and I find a seat.

Almost home.