12-12-61

teresa-phone

I was 3 years, and 8 months old when you were born
But did not know you till twenty
When we laid in the grass and promised
Each other our love would be plenty

I weigh our life and marriage today
And think of our 30, and 8 years together
Our love, our laughter, and caring for children
Midst sodden days or brightest fair weather

So on your first birthday at home with Jesus
I remember the laughter and love you convey
You filled me with selfless affection and friendship
I’ll miss you… ’til we’re united again someday

Happy Birthday My Love


Creative Commons LicenseThis work by dschwietert is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Dialysis

Peristaltic_pump_head.jpg

You walk in and look around; you see no warmth, nor hope for tomorrow, there is no laughter in that room. All eyes are vacant; little hope shines through…

———————————————-

She has flare in her eyes
and smiles like an angel.
Muse her hows and whys
her love is so faithful.

She contrives my future
and makes arrangements.
She gives me away
to transcend Her ailments.

She has flare in her eyes
yet misfortune o’re her head.
Her love for me is not disguised.
“I’m only doing this for you.” She said.

“I’m only doing this for you,
I don’t want this pain.
I’m only doing this for you,
what else have I to gain?”

Creative Commons LicenseThis work by dschwietert is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Taboo

sun-heart-autumn-leaf-39379
For years we’ve said “I love you”
-as casual parting goodbyes.
And now we confront how taboo
-it’s become and all that it implies.

Must we kill this love and let it die
-to keep our friendship true?
As for me how much more will I
-shirk our mores to shout “I love you!”

Creative Commons LicenseThis work by dschwietert is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Where Will I Be When The Wind Blows Again?

Stillness2

The wind is out’a my sails,
I’ve fought the gales,
and lost my tack,
I’m off the chosen track.

Now in the eye of the storm,
my canvas is torn,
I have no bearing,
and sit here despairing.

Blackness girdles my boat,
hope it stays afloat,
the tempest rushes me again,
Where will I be then?


Creative Commons LicenseThis work by dschwietert is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.