my mother would sing me
this song as a baby-
remembering,the power of sound.

for three quarters of the year
my mother she would steer
me from dreams to true love.

and that day, when you have gone
melted back into the dawn
I know you'll still hear me somehow.

for you, I will play, every song- in the way
that I know you'll receive, and retain.
Ill play those songs you love ..Me Do!
Hideaway, Over the Rainbow, Mrs. Robinson too


ill play the purest, sweet sound.
In Awe, Ill foster such simplistic beauty
Because the day I sit on that bench,
to play the Piano, as I have throughout my entire life,
The day I inherent it's entirety
That inevitably hollow day...
When only my ears
Feel it's vibrations.
When only my mind
Floats inside it's rhythm.
That day When
you've gone
too.

How will it sound?

The alarm tolls,
On their rude device-
It's time for work
& yet still, despite
the thousand fascets
of one reality
These
middle-aged
Half-life(s),
These Newbrunswickin Chavs
Wouldn't recognize, really,
That Despite
the riddle's answer, Being  E;
& that double decade,
One might have over me,

When direct
Questions
go unanswered; The respect
I require
(now unvield)
Shapeshifts,
Off, into the past
Oh, how I  become

The Whip

Ruthlessly;
they crack
The Whip                        
& with
All that I am,

the past, In desperation, I forcefully trick
As the blackness, of my being
Forms a darkness,  spilling thick.
Engulfing light- mind's eye's Unseeing,  
Consumes oneself, like a candles wick -
Illuminating every route (for fleeing)
For me, the lights still on- homesick.

Forcefully, faithfully; to keep on believing, & even

just to keep the pathway lit-  by headlight, sunbeam, or doomscrolling trip-
Understand why might a human being
'S now become The Whip