Wilting Roses By The Fireside

  Wilting roses by the fireside Coffee warming bones chilled from the boat Drifting thoughts to stagnant memories Thawing words from poems you never wrote

Chasing Time Down A Rabbit’s Hole

Chasing time down a rabbit’s hole Knowing there’s no way to go on back Don’t look that way, it’s a mirage Ghosts aren’t known to be tracked But we seldom heed our own advice Reason vanished into our past decisions Demons try to cling, but they don’t exist For these antiquated memories are mere apparitions