On the beach
where i stand
toes buried
deep in the sand

to each
their own
was worried
but no more.

Go where the road untangles and unfurls
by those cliff side views over those blue curls
lit only by those high beams off those white pearls.

Only sense of direction is the road ahead
no going back just only forwards instead
as going prevents drifting to the sea bed.

The white sea foam crashes amongst the shore
those high beams persist only for Salvadore
the light bends around the corner then no more.

The soloist closes their eyes and leans in to play their instrument,
an intertwined movement as the musician and their tool becomes one.
An ever so subtle look of one who loves to that which is intimate,
knowing the sentiment that was formed now may never be undone.

The dance is bittersweet as the moment has already began to fade,
a beautiful sight with the undertones of a melancholic symphony.
Even though the house lights stayed a lit and the music swayed
the musician could see the end coming of this moment so vividly.

This temporary music spreads out into infinity,
where all is left is the memories.
Notes and undertones that almost approach divinity,
where all is left is the reveries.

The house lights went out, the soloist left gasping for air.
Every delicate sensation overwhelmed but they didn't care.

Months have come and went,
time left and spent.
Moments of eternity and bliss,
here now to witness.

A blink as blue skies,
turn gray in old eyes.
Bells have began their knell,
and leaves have all but fell.

Hold on,
cold song,
I long to live.

Ripples of water, reflections of the night sky
and inflections of why, words came but all authors’
pens dried and faltered, moments of the divine
lost to the sacrilege of time, feeling came but altered.

Darkness came and surrounded,
confusion came and confounded,
as deep as valleys, as tall as mountains,
heartbeat in chest pounded.

Little lamp lead the way, the end is not today.
Tomorrow will come and stay, so do what I must to stay
a lit by this gentle flame, as all of will not be in vane.
I said aloud in a moment of panic to stay sane.

But time came and the light did not falter,
faith grew in this little, little light of mine,
and it grew to shine without any signs of alter.
Hope flickered as the flame stayed a lit on the twine.

Alone and afraid, frayed rope dwindling
burning as vibrant kindling, however closer did it fade
luckily in the darkness laid, countless stars swindling.
My heart rejoices as I have made it to the rekindling.

No longer alone, no longer afraid
pulse dropped, pounding stopped
the stars came and a lit my flame
I need to thank them all by name.

As I laid staring up at the stars,
feeling so small and alone on Mars,
I forgot all of the people who have came
who shared their soul and flame.

I hope I can keep being your flame,
and a piece of yours mine.
Days will be dark and dreary,
but shine on and shine forth into the night.

Blackbird sitting on the windowsill,
out of the cage and still not knowing.
Trying to think of flying or staying still,
as not wanting to stay but no point in flying.

Blackbird looking out to the ground outside,
seeing other birds flying up, up and away.
Dreaming of a chance to break free and soar in the skies,
being grounded by the thought that today is not the day.

Today is not the day to fly,
fly with the pain of everything associated with departure.
Today is not the day to say goodbye,
goodbye to all the bad and the good whichever is harder.

Blackbird looking out the window and just hopin',
without realizing the window was open.

Images we hang carefully on the wall,
hung carefully so it might not fall.

Just a moment wavering in the air,
holding on before it unfurls.

Gently letting go with care,
as it whirls away in those blue ivory curls.

A hug, a caress, a touch...
of a second which seems so faint.

Yet to not have enough,
to uncouple the real and the feint.

All that is left here is echoes.
All that is left here is echoes.

Silence where words would be,
ignorance where understanding should be,
apathy where love could be.

A moment,
    life flickers
    like film
    in a reel.

    Rewound,
    frame by
    frame.

    Today,
    yesterday,
    every day.

    Happiness,
    sadness,
    every emotion
    between.

    Reel
    runs out
    cuts
    to black.

The lights flickering up and down the dim avenue,
every flicker reflecting off the puddles on the ground.
For a moment these are the only movements in view,
until a car under the veil of night comes round.

The car that comes to a stop is an old rugged Polara Pursuit,
the door swings and lets out an old gentleman in a black-as-tar suit.
His dormant hands from his pockets to pull a cigar and a light,
he takes a look around before taking the cigar to his lips and ignite.

Nicotine hits and the tar burns through his mouth and down his neck,
smoke fills the air as he waits hoping he wasn’t given a rain check.
Embers burn off of the cigar fading back to the stars,
quiet filled with the distant echoes of passing cars.

Gently walks the solemn mourners
spent we few, who abscond the coroner.

Why the long faces, the hurt and scowl
we belong in places, not overt and prowl.

Night comes and takes the morning away.

Can we talk and walk those corners,
gently in dew, through fronds and flowers.

We belong in the races, covered in dirt and no tossed towels
why not be strong, even in the faces of hurt and scowl.

As the light drums and wakes, aborning today.

The boat trembles and shakes
frightened of the ongoing storm.
Darkness swallows and takes
the boat’s lifeless form.

Lightning illuminates the scene
to see running and commotion.
Waves cresting out of the ocean
biding its time to careen.

Uncertain this battle wages,
all day and all night.
We pity and discredit the sages,
who had this in their foresight.

As weather comes and goes,
as the Atlantic ebbs and flows.
Even though it can be dreary and storm,
does not mean a path will not form.

There is a place
not here or there
but somewhere.

Infinite fractals,
shattering in time.
Reflections,
in broken glass.

To blades of grass,
to grains of sand.
A finite countless,
infinity.

Out of the sidewalk gap blooms
a flower
Roots sunk deeply in the ground
to cower
Sky lit bright, no storms loom
to shower
No one knows how the flower found
its power

The wind blows
where does it go
nobody can know.

The river’s flow
topples like dominoes
through the meadow.

Out the window
of the small chateau
grows
an old willow.