Every morning I longed to be by my mother’s side.
She was kind and true.
As true as the facts anthropologists find to prove our human roots.
They say we evolved from monkeys and such.
I say there are always lies in between truths.
My mother promised to keep me safe.
She made my world a rainbow dune.

Her all-natural perfume gave me the ability to touch the sky.
Her rhythm and tune collided to bring out a pleasant triad.
I touched the blue and white with my bare hands.
No, I did not hesitate, for she was kind and true.
She gave me life and spirit too.
So easily, I assume.

Now all I see is a flooded platoon.
I was all too naïve to believe in the wicked disease.
My surroundings were made out of candies and sweets.
I am disgusted by her attempt to keep my life platonic and safe.
My mother manipulated my innocence without a care of the sea.
She had forgotten to introduce gangsters, and demons into my docile life.

I was only six when it happened.
My beautiful, heartwarming mother took her life.
She abandoned me to face the demons all too soon.
I was thrown into the streets and lived an uneventful life.
Lee found me lying on the street with tears streaming from both eyes.
The rest of my childhood was spent watching Lee slaughter innocent souls.

I saw too much from my own baby blue eyes.
There were screams and body parts rapidly falling from sight.
I knew all too well that Lee was my savior, so I tried to fit in as an alien might try.
Too soon did I become what my mother would never praise and I did not put an end.
As children, we are too weak and need guidance to live.
We mirror what we see, no matter how wrong it may be.

I needed the right soul to look after me.
I did not have that and so I fell into dark tunnels, you see.
I am not to blame, so why blame the innocent and not those at fault?
Those that walked right past me when I was only six could have helped.
They had the upper hand, I did not.
I never did, I was just a little innocent kid.

It isn't music, really
not really
not the kind that you can
dance to
or sing words to
or hum along to

but maybe tap your foot
a bit to
or rock your shoulders
a little bit to
and sway your head
a little nod or two

It's more like rustling leaves
from pianissimo
to crescendo
above the tapping
drips of rain
in puddles circling
round the dangling feet
of waterspouts

and the trilling ring
a brassy bell delivers
swinging from the strike
of an opened door  
as dampened shoes
skip shuffle and slide
inside the musty lair
of an old bookstore

all measured by
the syncopated
clapping beat
of hooves
on cobblestone
in time with
carriage wheels
and drumbeat hoods
of rocking cabriolets

He paints from sound
that whistles in the wind
and freefalls from the sky
that bounces in the streets
and whispers to his eyes
that nestles in his pallet
and mixes in his dyes

It isn't music, really
not really
not the kind that you can
dance to
or sing words to
or hum along to

but maybe tap your foot
a bit to
or rock your shoulders
a little bit to
and sway your head
a little nod or two

when you see his aria
composed by strokes
from brushes
dipped in sound

A tight hug, tearful farewell.
I hope fate conspires for us to meet again.

Six years isn't a short time
six hours a day was never long enough.

I will miss you
like the cold skin misses your touch.

I will smoke rings of memories around you
till Saturn pines for you.

A tight hug.
I will never let you go.

There is something to be said for the way your smile lights up passageways in my heart that have long been darkened

I remember the smell of your soap and the taste of honeycomb cereal and the feel of your soft hands protecting my small hands on the way across the road to my kindergarten classroom

And here today I sit across from you and I want to thank you for every cut you cleaned, and every tear you wiped, and the way you taught me to smile no matter who kicked me down, but I have to remember that you are now someone else

And to you, I am as good as a stranger
To you, we share no memories
No quiet mornings or warm afternoons

And I sit here today and I'm smiling and you're smiling but all is hollow because you cannot place my face in your photo frames of memory and I cannot help but curse myself for letting you get away from me

And these diseases of the mind are the silent terrorists, waging wars on memories and leaving ticking time bombs with tired families

I don't cry
I don't cry
I don't cry

Every Sunday afternoon you spent carving me into the person I am is gone, and I am coming to realize that without your love, this being you forged is wooden and hollow

You mean more to me than anything in the world
But you don't know who I am
I am gone to you

And every Sunday afternoon, I tell you who I am
And you smile and nod, and you're as kind as can be
But you are convinced, you've never met me



I have to smile
No matter who or what kicks me down

Take everything in your life
And change into everything
Everything you thought you were missing
Just listen

Nothing is all that hard
Once you get around to doing it
Those doubts in your head are transparent
Your job is to stop them from blaring

When you're on the outs
Reexamine what you give and what you're given
It's usually just about the same amount
So the next time your pout, think about that

Putting your ear to the ground
And breathing in and just waiting
Is no waste of time, it's time well spent
Everyone is capable of seeing around the bend