The days are hard,
She’s tired, and
Frustrated;
A better life —
For so long, now,
She’s waited —
She’s more and more
An animal
Who’s sessile —
She’s sui generis
But not
That special —
The scenery
Goes by, and she’s
Reflecting —
Another day
Of talk without
Connecting —
A worker’s job –
A crier’s tears –
Authentic —
So much alike
That sometimes they’re
Identic
We danced on silver sunsets that
We only got a peek of
From inside of a secret room
That only we can speak of.
But I think she’s forgotten now,
As least that thought occurs
From silver sunsets in my eyes
I cannot find
In hers
When you’re too young to know,
But old enough to feel,
The anger is too much,
And emptiness, too real.
When daddy’s angry voice
Is ringing off the ceiling,
‘s No wonder that so many
Of our boys give up
Feeling
The world, for him, has slipped away.
He sold it for some bits of string:
It hasn’t hit him – not today –
That he’s devoid of everything
That gave his life some meaning, and
Could build a house of more than sand;
Instead, he chases his ideal
And gives up all he has
That’s real
A vineyard’s barren yearly.
That doesn’t mean it’s dead —
Sometimes we must turn in to grow,
But this can be misread
By those who think that empty vines
Are death just masquerading —
Instead of knowing wine will come,
And that it’s worth
The waiting
Outlandish as the summer sea
That found us at this time and place,
We lived our bit of fantasy
And ran our bit of race.
For day on day and skin on skin,
We breathed in time the message in:
To ride the moments as they fly
For just like summer days,
They die
The moon is not a terrorist; in fact,
She often visits both the poor and sick.
Although she has a schedule that is packed,
And often deals with clouds that can be thick,
She’s regular. And knowing that’s the trick:
The moon is true, not subject to caprice,
And that should bring no fear, but only peace.
The moon is not a soldier or a spy;
She does not aim to kill, or try to steal.
The moon’s a corporeal lullaby,
A friend, though far away, who’s very real,
Who gives your very goodnight a words her seal.
As children know, once sung their fav’rite tune,
It’s time to sleep when they hear “Goodnight, Moon”
I stand amid the frozen rows,
And think of long-lost friends;
Where stones line up just like these trees
And sorrow never ends
I stand amid the winter gloom,
A hush is on the clearing,
I guess that I could join them all,
But I’m not volunteering
Love the moment, feel the wind,
Make believe you never sinned,
Saying words you can’t rescind —
Love the moment, feel the wind.
Wear your glamor like a prize,
Wrap it all in silk and lies,
Interlaced with alibis —
Wear your glamor like a prize.
Once, you were a fair man’s daughter,
Now you lead the weak to slaughter,
Laughing, leaping, like an otter,
Preening for the watching eyes —
Love the moment, feel the wind,
None of this on you gets pinned,
You the ranks firsthand have thinned —
Love the moment, feel
The wind
