Running man, the road is yours
As fleet of foot you fly
Across meridians of day
The miles going by
With no Achilles in your heel
And glory in your eye
Be long, your longest run
The winding road you take
Which brings you out and back again
With torment none, nor ache
To still the beating spirit
The beating heart awakes
Take to the hills today
The hurt that bears no sorrow
The grief that falls unburdened
Within the running hour
That it may still your struggles
Your troubles disempower
And with your footsteps bear you on
Through all of your tomorrows –
Fighting “Growing Old”
by Bob Moore © 2019
On the inside I still feel the same
as I did in my youth
just an extra pain or two
it’s the outside tells the truth
A grey hair here, a wrinkle there
a scar where somethings mended
a sudden pain if I move too fast
where a couple of joints have blended
I used to climb the hills of home
now, climbing out of beds a chore
Used to jump up in the mornings
just can’t do that any more
But inside I feel I really could
if I still had the nerve
take to the hills, sleep on the ground
if my backbone didn’t curve
So I will take my walking stick
and do what I am told
“Don’t jump over that puddle Pop
you know, you are too old.”
The Wild West.
I jump on my horse old lucky.
We take to the hills along the trails.
Across the plains, we do ride. Like wind high in the trees, I do see.
We ride for hours without a worry.
For we are in no real hurry.
Across the wild west, I do ride with the most pride I do have.
Then wouldn't you know it had to come.
Mom yell," dinner get off that rock n horse.'
The leaf glistens in the sunbeam. ...yet dark on the under part
like the smile on a face hides shadows in the heart.
A beautiful woman the eyes doth see
but her words destroy a vision so sweet.
The silent river flows gently to the ocean,
extending seductive arms .. deceives the swimmer
how quickly he is swept down
to depths below .
The air becomes still..... yet birds do not sing
they take to the hills on frantic wings
even bees do not sting..they know
a storm is brewing..fly to the hills.
Seems a difficult chore
to find oneness in all things
contradicting patterns...at every door
a lifetime we'll spend searching for that perfect blend
till in the end..we will accept
there will forever be....... two sides to a coin.
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