As you may or may not know, I started this blog just a little over two years ago. The sad thing is, like most new bloggers, I was not prepared for the amount of work it takes to keep a blog running. With life, a full time job in retail and a few health issues, I was forced to abandon my words once again. Now that full retirement is upon me, I once again, took the chance that all my friends had not forgotten me. Many of those I followed or followed me have since left the WordPress community. But those that remained welcomed me back with open arms along with so many new friends I have met since my return.
I really appreciate all the encouragement and support from all of you. I have decided to dedicate a day to reblog some of my older post for my newly found friends. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
Originally posted on The Backyard Poet on 5/18/2017 and published in ‘The Incoherant Ramblings of an Old Man’ https://www.amazon.com/Incoherant-Ramblings-Old-Man-ebook/dp/B06ZZ1KQCS
There was a time when the words flowed from my hand and dropped onto the paper with ease. In those days long ago I walked with Kings and Gods and we talked of love, war, happiness and sorrow. I shared my dreams with you and could make you laugh or cry with the press of my pen. I scattered my words into the rain so that you might feel the mud between your toes as you ran barefoot through the puddles. I showed you where to find golden trees that glittered with a thousand lights. I could share with you a sunrise that splashed orange marmalade and pink chiffon onto a deep blue canvas. With the ink from my soul, I tattooed my stories into your thoughts.
But I left the muse of my youth behind as life pushed away the youthful dreams and parked it’s minivan on my inspiration. Time covered the mounds of words that lay strewn in piles upon my desk and hid them behind mortgages, 401k’s, and cable bills. Children rushed in and out taking with them my every thought. My life was consumed and I was content. I no longer had a use for words and tossed them into the attic of my mind. Over the years they lay there in the dark, alone and hoping that someday my muse might come again.
Age has little more to do these days than to pry open all the doors of my memories. It has found my words of forgotten rhythms and emotions and dropped them haphazardly into the forefront of my mind. I see that the ink on those words that I once drew from the well of my youthful imagination has dried and faded; but it has not disappeared completely. Now they are with me again. They may be tarnished and blemished but they still cling to life. I will attempt to take those words and clean them until they shine again. They still believe in me and I need to believe in them.