SOMETIMES        Sometimes it's not the love that lasts (which grows and dies wherever it does,) it's the infatuation that wants. It's the reason for the poem. It's the desire that never dies, and thanks to the words that frozen fire continues on long after its remembrance has since dissipated with the approaching night, the flitting wings of fleeing dusk.   It's the reason I live and write, to seek that passion that exists only in my mind, never seeing the fire in front of me for what it is: Another lost soul.   I keep telling myself I won't do this so that the next time death surprises me (like a Bingo game that never stops ) I'll try not to act so surprised because by then I will have stopped having regrets.   © 2008 Jean Jones             Andrea   Bitterness was not your calling card and neither was regret. If you had not lived these last 10 years my memories of you would have  been filled with bitterness with anger, regret, and frustration. The anger is not totally gone, and neither is the regret but watching you deal with less and less power in your hands under your control to accept these losses without bitterness and regret have taught me how to grow old with grace and fall in love with you perhaps for the first time since I was a little boy and loved you as my mother.   © 2008 Jean Jones