Drifting Memories

Art and Words to settle my mind


Visions art of an emptiest past,
They’re dancing within my dreams,
Utterance of nothing but broken word,
All within the quiet of my silent screams,
The slow control of all that was,
Life once held inside, now gone and burnt,
Within this darkness now nothing but my pain,
Only nightmares to show, despair shines brightest,
Endless thoughts, what could have been, forlorn regret,
That is but only just a common day,
My core lost among the shattered pieces,
I pray and pray as memories slowly fade away,
No answer comes, no healing of my soul’s slow death,
I embrace my coming end…

The Road Maps on my Hands

I look upon my hands,
No matter under light night or day,
All the creases and crinkles, scars and burns
Full life of work and care

Work and Love,
And each new wrinkle of age,
Family and Friends,
All the hugs I helped created

Dirty or clean,
Still full of happiness and pride,
Old or Young,
Have felt such sadness and pain

Scratched or bruised,
I’m still view with pride
These old hands of mine….

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre December 4th, 2007

Nekoti inenia, nekoti ihkweea
Soleil es Tepehkiiha


My Shadow

Passing through years of time, making me who I am now
Each wrinkle and scar a testimony of life well lived
Time wroth furrows mapping each bend in the path
Life’s blood runs now slow in these old veins
Once golden hair now awash in the white of snow
Yet I still hold to life as death touches cold against my cheek

I find myself in this old picture, young and strong
Not finding what I am, but what I was
Mirror leaving no doubt, not else to believe
Yet though I’ve altered, much remains the same
As I was drawn, I still retain that which I am
Complexion and stand, here I still find me

It is my face staring back, my friendly smile
My never empty well of love, still seen in reflective eye
Here I find, my care and compassion still live
With abundant enthusiasm, the zeal of a youth
Denial perhaps, of ruddy lip, or hair of less youthful dye
So as I behold the frail old man I’ve become
I find my shadow less changed than I thought…..

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre December 23rd, 2007

Tired Lament

These old bones feel so heavy,
As I sit in this worn out chair,
And the world is so much colder now,
Though no one seems to care.

I think I’ve reached my final days,
Dwindled to but a few,
Each day now like the one before,
Too soon they will be done.

They shut me away here,
In this so called home,
Where I eat and sleep,
My days not but a blur.

I look all about me
This space where I live,
No laughter or love,
Just my dried dusty tears.

All the good times are memories,
So faded with age,
My friends, my lovers,
They’ve all gone ahead

I gaze out the window,
Across well manicured lawn,
And wonder yet again the loss,
Where has my life gone?

Perhaps it is come,
My time to move along,
For the truth seems to shout at me,
I’ve simply lived too damn long……..

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre January 12th, 2008