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mark-brannan
Is it a mountain range? I think that’s strange To start in the plains Through the foothills and rains Over streams and lakes to bulky terrains Up and down, and up a bigger one still It starts as a game, one big thrill The valleys are sweet and the peaks high How high could they get? To the sky? Maybe high enough that you can fly! What’s on the other side? More plains perhaps? Or maybe an ocean, with breaking white caps? No one’s ever made it so we’ll just have to guess Some say at one point the height is much less But that’s not firsthand information, so I digress The path is strewn with bodies whose stamina wore out But signs on their necks read, “This is what it’s all about!” You can’t know what that means until it happens to you When you’ve shattered your dreams, and your legs feel it too But you’ll miss these people who tread paths for such few Perhaps you’ll find where the peaks get a little lower You won’t find it by resting, push on! Upward and over! There’ll be bruises and scratches aplenty for sure For this wondrous disease there is no known cure The majesty of the mountains is a deadly lure So many have tried to reach the other side They’ve sweat and they’ve bled, they’ve fallen and cried But to stop is to go mad with curiosity and thought About what lays beyond, what the dead have sought So we climb and we climb, even if all for naught Then we find that perhaps it’s not been worth doing Were it a play we’d probably be booing Then we think of the foothills, of much simpler days When the son shone blinding and we danced in his rays And we wonder if there was a pass we’d missed on our ways All the while climbing to the end of our days As the sun starts to dim but casts a dark haze And we wished we had enjoyed the peaks Climbing and climbing for thousands of weeks And then a slight rose comes to our cheeks We lie down for a moment and softly cry Take one final look at the blueblack sky Then sit up straight, nice and stout Confidently moving, no shadows of doubt And don on our necks, “This is what it’s all about!”
0
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
The Journey of a Lifetime
Is it a mountain range? I think that’s strange To start in the plains Through the foothills and rains Over streams and lakes to bulky terrains Up and down, and up a bigger one still It starts as a game, one big thrill The valleys are sweet and the peaks high How high could they get? To the sky? Maybe high enough that you can fly! What’s on the other side? More plains perhaps? Or maybe an ocean, with breaking white caps? No one’s ever made it so we’ll just have to guess Some say at one point the height is much less But that’s not firsthand information, so I digress The path is strewn with bodies whose stamina wore out But signs on their necks read, “This is what it’s all about!” You can’t know what that means until it happens to you When you’ve shattered your dreams, and your legs feel it too But you’ll miss these people who tread paths for such few Perhaps you’ll find where the peaks get a little lower You won’t find it by resting, push on! Upward and over! There’ll be bruises and scratches aplenty for sure For this wondrous disease there is no known cure The majesty of the mountains is a deadly lure So many have tried to reach the other side They’ve sweat and they’ve bled, they’ve fallen and cried But to stop is to go mad with curiosity and thought About what lays beyond, what the dead have sought So we climb and we climb, even if all for naught Then we find that perhaps it’s not been worth doing Were it a play we’d probably be booing Then we think of the foothills, of much simpler days When the son shone blinding and we danced in his rays And we wonder if there was a pass we’d missed on our ways All the while climbing to the end of our days As the sun starts to dim but casts a dark haze And we wished we had enjoyed the peaks Climbing and climbing for thousands of weeks And then a slight rose comes to our cheeks We lie down for a moment and softly cry Take one final look at the blueblack sky Then sit up straight, nice and stout Confidently moving, no shadows of doubt And don on our necks, “This is what it’s all about!”
Continue reading...
45
Just because I’m smiling, Doesn’t mean I’m happy. Maybe I just have a preference, That I’d rather be here, With you, Not feeling great, But just not feeling terrible For a little while. Just taking a little break from the world. The same world That tells us no, Or rather, tells me no. It gives you a choice, And you just relay its message. How cruel of the world, To take someone beautiful like you And place you in a confining box, As a mere messenger to me That we will never be together. But here we are, Together, But apart. In the same place but not intimately, Not for you at least, And intimacy must run north and south, But for me, my God, for me! Being this close is a sky dive, Every second it appears I’m going to crash into the Earth But I just don’t care! Because I’ve never felt a rush like this before, And yet for you, it’s like sitting in a coffee shop With your mother. Who only wants to know you To know a morsel of your private life, To know you trust her in some form. But she’s your mother, And her friendship is underwhelming to you, Like the black coffee you drink. So that’s what I’m reduced to, According to your attitude. To a prying mother that you respect more than you love. Although I’m a man, Just a man in love with you Who would love to be loved back. And no matter how obvious you hint That things just aren’t like they used to be, That we’ll never be as close as we once were, Ever again, Still I will love to sit here. Just to look at your radiant face And the three freckles that guard the right corner of your mouth As if your delicate lips must ask them for permission Each time you grace me with one of your careful smiles. I live for these smiles, Both to make them and enjoy them. To bask in their warmth Like a happy crocodile Waiting for the water to evaporate off his scales And to make them! Dear God, to make them! There is no finer pleasure in this world for a man For any man Than to make a sly remark Followed by a shared smile between only me and you I lived for these moments and sadly still do Even though it seems each smile Is now a hollow shell A mold cast by your beauty That could never be fully replicated I haven’t seen true joy in your smile For some time now And I wonder who’s to blame But blaming solves nothing so I just love to sit here Pondering your face, The beauty I see in your smile, The hint of longing melancholy in your eyes, And the tragedy my heart notices at your lips That you don’t want to touch them to mine.
0
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:18 PM UTC
The Essence of Friendship Between Simple Men and Pretty Women
Just because I’m smiling, Doesn’t mean I’m happy. Maybe I just have a preference, That I’d rather be here, With you, Not feeling great, But just not feeling terrible For a little while. Just taking a little break from the world. The same world That tells us no, Or rather, tells me no. It gives you a choice, And you just relay its message. How cruel of the world, To take someone beautiful like you And place you in a confining box, As a mere messenger to me That we will never be together. But here we are, Together, But apart. In the same place but not intimately, Not for you at least, And intimacy must run north and south, But for me, my God, for me! Being this close is a sky dive, Every second it appears I’m going to crash into the Earth But I just don’t care! Because I’ve never felt a rush like this before, And yet for you, it’s like sitting in a coffee shop With your mother. Who only wants to know you To know a morsel of your private life, To know you trust her in some form. But she’s your mother, And her friendship is underwhelming to you, Like the black coffee you drink. So that’s what I’m reduced to, According to your attitude. To a prying mother that you respect more than you love. Although I’m a man, Just a man in love with you Who would love to be loved back. And no matter how obvious you hint That things just aren’t like they used to be, That we’ll never be as close as we once were, Ever again, Still I will love to sit here. Just to look at your radiant face And the three freckles that guard the right corner of your mouth As if your delicate lips must ask them for permission Each time you grace me with one of your careful smiles. I live for these smiles, Both to make them and enjoy them. To bask in their warmth Like a happy crocodile Waiting for the water to evaporate off his scales And to make them! Dear God, to make them! There is no finer pleasure in this world for a man For any man Than to make a sly remark Followed by a shared smile between only me and you I lived for these moments and sadly still do Even though it seems each smile Is now a hollow shell A mold cast by your beauty That could never be fully replicated I haven’t seen true joy in your smile For some time now And I wonder who’s to blame But blaming solves nothing so I just love to sit here Pondering your face, The beauty I see in your smile, The hint of longing melancholy in your eyes, And the tragedy my heart notices at your lips That you don’t want to touch them to mine.
Continue reading...
78
I miss you like the sky Misses the sun at night The moon gets me by But it doesn’t feel quite right I know you are busy Lighting up the west coast I just hope you still miss me Because I miss you the most But when it’s day I think it must be Alaska in the winter For the daylight is shorter than a flea Of the day it’s only a splinter And in the night we’re on our own At least it feels to me But it makes me strong, it makes you grown Or this I must believe I think the tragedy of life Is that every time the sun sets I know like a butcher knows a knife That about us God forgets I miss you the way a dog misses his master Every time he goes away The dog always assumes disaster That he’s gone for good today Who will pet me? Who will feed me? Who will open up my door? I once was blind, but now I see The things I’ve never done before That’s why when master comes home A fit of barking ensues Until he’s thrown a bone And he lies down, subdued I’ll make it through somehow But I didn’t think I could Because gone for now Feels a lot like gone for good
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Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
The Master of My Heart