Let’s stay friends.

Your voice in my head, singing Simon and Garfunkel. 

Old friends,
Old friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends.
A newspaper blown though the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends.

Old friends,
Winter companions,
The old men
Lost in their overcoats,
Waiting for the sunset.
The sounds of the city,
Sifting through trees,
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends.

Can you imagine us
Years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly? 
How terribly strange
To be seventy.
Old friends,
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears..

IT IS OVER. 

OVER.

Life moves on. And once again I bury myself in the poems that I love. In words I find my sanctuary. 

MEMORIES BRUSHING THE SAME YEARS.. SILENTLY SHARING THE SAME FEARS…

Je me noye dans le courant. 

“J’AI TROP VU TROP SENTI TROP AIMÉ dans ma vie

Je viens chercher vivant le calme du Léthé

Beaux lieux, soyez pour moi ces bords où l´on oublie

L´oubli seul désormais est ma félicité. ”

–Lamartine.