Sometimes

Sometimes I feel that I just have to write, and write, and write Things that are inane Things that are insane Things that wash away the pain

Some days I just have to go away, far away, far far away To find some rest To find my nest To find that I am blessed

Sometimes I have to sing, and sing, and sing To hear my voice To hear my choice To hear the angels rejoice

Owner of My Heart 

You were ever so wonderful to me. I wish that your face again I would see. If truth were to be told it is you I long to hold. These sentiments have been said many times before to many lost loves in many ways to ones adored. Your love will never get old. My love will never loosen its hold. We maybe far apart, but your still near in my heart. The years have passed too quickly, but I see your beauty and love clearly. The days left to us are fewer. I don’t know what lies in the future. But each day you will always be close. You will be my ballad, mural, and prose. Should we never meet again know that you are the ink in my pen. Writing the history of something treasured. You are the muse of my heart’s pleasure. You gave meaning and wonder to life,  coloring my world with your palette knife. Words fail when it comes to the heart. The love we share will always own my heart

Melancholia

I sit here late at night My shattered dreams keeping me company Memories are but shadows Of what once was Or what should have been Nothing that I do now Can make it right It’s hard to see the future With the past all encompassing The future is bright Outside the fog I can not erase the past Nor write over it It is there And always will be What is left to do Will not offset what’s already done It will not eclipse The darkened path I’ve trod I look to a faint morning To wash away a bit of the grime Enough to see the shortened way ahead And to pull a few of the weeds  That once were planted Enough to cut away snippets of overgrowth Letting in a little more light For the steps ahead For now I sit here Waiting for morning light To sweep away the dimness of my night

Holding On

Life passed him by Loves leaving her dry Just getting by Waiting it to end - to afraid to die

Through the glass portal fell the grains of sand He, to her, an old man - she, to him, one needing a hand His tome reaching its final pages Hers not half written, still in transitional stages

Their worlds apart in so many ways Yet together they spent many days With a love formed in neither Heaven or Hell A love that suited them well

He looking for what was lost in the din She in silence looking for what never has been Time went by neither good or bad But it was the best they had

The days moving by Time on the fly Spending time wondering why They lived only to die

Through it all They just had to call For a hug To feel the caring drug

Life passing her by Came his time to die Life ended for him Leaving her holding the memory of him

Music

Music should be loud, enveloping, penetrating, saturating, drowning; enveloping like a hurricane,  penetrating like lightning, saturating as a monsoon, drowning as a fabled deluge, Music must be sharp, clear, deep, revealing, cutting clear as the finest crystal, deep as the deepest sea, revealing as a mirror, cutting as a razor, Music must be gentle, soft, soothing, absorbing, enduring, soft as a fleece blanket,  soothing as a mother’s caress, absorbing as a lover’s embrace, enduring as eternity.

Music must be all of these Music is all of these Music sets at ease Music has the power to appease Music is the chorus of life... ...if you please

Superman in the Wall

I lay there, Sat there, Floated there, Watching Superman in the wall. In the wall, Part of the wall, Walking in the wall. Where he appeared amid The pyramids, In the aramid, Where he hid. He looked all the calmer As he listened to Emerson, Lake and Palmer No psychic bummer Walking to the beat of the drummer. Superman in the wall.

I sat in the corner Watching from the corner My own little corner. Watching slithery serpents, No deterrence, In the mystic transference, The surreal currents. Descending from the ceiling,  Chandelier pealing,   In kaleidoscopic reelings, Mesmerizing my feelings. Dancers in a freaky harem, Heads akin to arum, They offered no alarum, For their seductive venom. Serpents on the ceiling.

I stood there, Leaned there, Sat there. Watching the Hulk emerge in the room Emerging through the spume, In front of me it did loom Joining our playroom. He moved so easy, Leaving trails so breezy, So narcotizing to see me Thanks to Owsley and Kesey. I drifted to another lodging throbbing, Found a seat meltingly fitting, With boggy drab mud walls admitting, Slucking me into ooze unremitting. Lost in the forever mire.

Excreted out the other side, I crawled to the far side, Dreams melting by my side. Went to the movies and dropped a dot, Actors watched us in the theater pot, We now the actors on the movie lot. A face here, then there, dissolving on the  spot. Finis, then we rose like Alice in the hall, Sitting small then ten feet tall, To make our own curtain call, Exiting with a wrawl. To the room I moved again, To wander through grass and glass there in, I sat there, lay there, floated there within Staring at the wall with a Cheshire grin. Waiting for Superman in the wall.

They Were...