Gripping a pen and lunging at paper leaves me unable to find the words over and over again.
I feel the chills of nostalgia escaping through my spine.
Does the comedian or the musician or the dancer continue to perform on stage after the curtain has rolled? Does the writer continue the book that won’t be published?
Maybe they should, for the sake of what is created.
You learn to lead from your father
But you blamed yourself when he walked off
Sometimes you hold your child like the last one
Then you find yourself trying to stay gone
Rage is a game for the lonely
Love is the mercy we need
It’s better than walkin’ away
It’s better than walkin’ away
Sometimes it’s harder to stay
Than walkin’ away from it all
Holding hands at the table
A kiss goodnight with the light on
Sunrise, words and a coffee
You miss it all just to feel free
Fear is a thief to the family
Brave is the one on his knees
It’s better than walkin’ away
It’s better than walkin’ away
Love is the price that we pay
Walkin’ away from it all
Rage is a game for the lonely
War is a front for our greed
Love makes a way but it only
Heals when we stay while we bleed
It’s better than walkin’ away
It’s better than walkin’ away
So many reasons to stay
So walk in and wait, for it all
A faint blue light that night drifted through the window of the child’s room. It sparked his interest, reminding him of something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Tip toeing out of bed, through the hall across the soft carpet, down the silent stairs, to the wooden floor that approached the front door, the child anxiously peered again at the soft blue light, and smiled because he remembered what would come to pass. Out the door his feet against the cool concrete, this time setting out on a summer night, with adventure brimming in his mind. Yet something was queer… and he rubbed his eyes and realized the light was gone, and alone and dumbfounded he stood in the street. Not tonight. Yet the spark of adventure still thrived within him, waiting for the right moment. In another time and place a lad strolled along a field in a valley he once knew quite well. He’s got important matters to attend to most of the time, a future ahead of him. Yet something drew him to this place on this crisp autumn day. The sky wasn’t always so cloudy and the grass wasn’t always so stiff, he starts to remember. The sun used to light up the whole valley side and warm him as he danced, not alone, along the sea of green, and the memory awakens in him a youthly vigor and excitement. Not too far gone yet, the lad still lives in simple times. To an unfortunate fate our attention can be cast. Shipwrecked. Two brothers commandeered two seperate vessels, both exploring yet neither agreeing on which water to travel. The one brother took the river, as it had beautiful scenery along the bank and he knew the river as a youth. The other brother warned the river was too shallow. This brother chose to take the open sea, with it’s proclaimed adventures and uncertainty. The first brother warned the sea was dangerous and the waters deep. Neither body of water proved safe, and both ventures resulted in shipwrecks. Yet they were both alright and chuckled, for there lay something special in the moon.
Using cash instead of my imagination perhaps, the change sits in my pocket yet it exists and may be actually a good thing. In my peripheral the heavens may be collapsing and falling to the earth, but I won’t be reaching for my phone. How beautiful.
I suppose at this time… a sort of tribute, respect in a way, or maybe simply just the pure sense of recollection, of I to he of some time ago, who certainly existed and thrived.
Yet in a way a sort of toast, to a future. Words do not flow as easily as once before, especially in the scratched words on loose-leaf sheets of paper. My thoughts beaten and forced into a structure to be sold,
..so can I abandon form and rules and partake on a journey through……. through what? Mind?
There will be nothing on my sleeves
Depths,
In the sense of mindset, surely to be avoided
as well in the sense of something unexpected, involving so many, yet few. Too far? Yes, I shouldn’t have company inside my head.
I’m tired of strands teasing me and reminding me that I am alone. I hate the hundreds of them, endless.
Or no longer, they see California skies, and I don’t which it comes down to, in a small respect, not really though in all honesty. I’ll stay away from that phone nonetheless.
I forgot most of my Spanish, and a whole lot more forgetting would do me good
I love music that drips with emotion, crafted by talented musicians. Happiness, sadness, anger, love; all of it is beautiful
The sky îs moving sideways right now I know it cause it’s late and that’s what it does when everything else changes the moon is in on the games too and so is the tide, I know it, and even when I can’t tell what’s true and what’s a lie or harm but I HEAR it which is confusing cause then maybe it’s me but I think myself is a good place to trust because
My uncle has a country place
That no one knows about.
He says it used to be a farm,
Before the Motor Law.
And on Sundays I elude the Eyes,
And hop the Turbine Freight
To far outside the Wire,
Where my white-haired uncle waits.
Jump to the ground
As the Turbo slows to cross the Borderline.
Run like the wind,
As excitement shivers up and down my spine.
Down in his barn,
My uncle preserved for me an old machine,
For fifty-odd years.
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream.
I strip away the old debris
That hides a shining car.
A brilliant red Barchetta
From a better, vanished time.
I fire up the willing engine,
Responding with a roar.
Tires spitting gravel,
I commit my weekly crime…
Wind-
In my hair-
Shifting and drifting-
Mechanical music-
Adrenaline surge…
Well-weathered leather,
Hot metal and oil,
The scented country air.
Sunlight on chrome,
The blur of the landscape,
Every nerve aware.
Suddenly ahead of me,
Across the mountainside,
A gleaming alloy air-car
Shoots towards me, two lanes wide.
I spin around with shrieking tires,
To run the deadly race,
Go screaming through the valley
As another joins the chase.
Drive like the wind,
Straining the limits of machine and man.
Laughing out loud
With fear and hope, I’ve got a desperate plan.
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded at the riverside.
Race back to the farm, to dream with my uncle at the fireside
-Red Barchetta
I have remembered who I was and who I wish to be. That allows to me know who I am
And that provides a sort of peace
