It wasn’t my intention
to collect your love
and place it on a shelf.
The dust makes you sneeze,
and I’m sorry, I’ve just
It takes a lot
for me to climb my step stool
to break up
the cobwebs that
have settled on you
and Paul and Chris and Jake.
I missed you before we ever met
And dread the parting words
You were the pawn shop for my trinkets and baggage
Assigning palpable worth to the unimportant history
One man’s trash and tragedy
Is another man’s happiness attained
I traded my pain for gold
You’re the best story I ever told
I have a trinket
I hold the world in my palms
And in the world i hold a woman who owns a voice that calms
This trinket is not magic
It's a godsend in disguise
And it harbors the words of a woman
With bright blue sky eyes
Now the distance is quite an issue
But it won't hold our demise
There are many miles ahead
And time is on our side
So I'll just lay here awake
Chatting away with someone in which i confide
And maybe one day I'll get a package
Marked precious cargo with you wrapped up inside
Blossoms of orange, or ferns of green- They have made the most wonderful sights anyone on this Earth have ever seen.
Trinkets of pink, and memorbillias of blue- they'll be making history a-new!
Take a few minutes here to just unwind.
You'll know you've come to precious Heaven, when you can understand the workings of your mind.
Pictures overlapping, and falling all around-This is a special gift-Full of memories abound.
The memories, now, we can see, are blossoms of love when we let them all be! Let them be.
She stopped eating until she was nothing but right angles and sharp edges. It was if she couldn’t understand the math of the world she lived in, so she sought the neat geometry of the curve of her hollowed hips, the bend of her wishbone elbow, and the measurements of her rag doll ankles.
They’re almost gone now a vanishing tribe
Peddlers of fresh sweets honeys from hive
Sellers of fish heads such sundries on head
Toys and bangles and blankets for bed.
Don’t see them around those struggling men
Making the choice of voice trudging the lane
Hoping to sell one piece in dream of gain
Faceless wind ringer in sun’s bite and rain.
Gone are those plaintive cries on summer noon
Raising road’s dust on trail singing the tune
Traders of trinkets girls’ ribbon hairpin
Yoyo and plastic top with endless spin.
Why the times ruined them made them a flop
Sellers travelers with head-full of shop
Sending their song of hope past locked in door
None could now fill that space nothing anymore.
1) October is a month for leaving
even the copper leaves
leave the embrace of the trees
2)Your ghost still haunts my bed.
If I made love to a priest
would that exorcise you
from my sheets?
3)Because I think we all have thought
about stepping on the gas
when we should have hit the brake.
It’s the small things.
The little ones almost missed,
But some strand of soul
Reels them in,
Adds them to the heap
Of silver and bronze plated memories
Stashed in the heart of hearts.
Locked away by ingratitude,
Who bars the door with steeled force.
But even a slip of thanks,
Could push him aside.
And flood the world with light.
I fall beneath the wings
I hang above the chasm
I let my resolve crumble
Breathless whispers bring forth
enticing thoughts of snow globe worlds
As useful as paper weights
I fear the collision of worlds
I wait for the ringing to stop
I allow the peace of destruction to befall
Covering the world
in satin trimmed words
Pretending the tides would shift for the better