A poem in motion is interesting indeed As it walks among the lives of poverty and greed It stops at those who are always in need even those who don't show it And asks them to be their own special poet
there must be a place where broken words go the ones without a limb not fully formed not spoken right not heard
there must be a place where broken words go the sentences left uncompleted the trailing words that never left the lips the "but" and the "and" that were always left hanging
somewhere between silence and speech there must be a place where broken words go full of stutters and writers block sufferers somewhere between the "i love" and the "you" that never followed or the "wait" that was whispered into the air the "please come back" that made peace with dying on the corners of a turning mouth
there must be a place where broken words go the words spoken but never heard the letters written but never posted the train of thought that crashed into the clouds the words in the bottle that traveled the sea but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach
there must be a place where my broken words go the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense the things i could never say and the things i said that came out all wrong all the broken alphabets in my song that cry for salvation for one more chance
there must be a place where broken words go there must be a place i can call home.
He's got an eye for storms so he walks right in A Bible in one hand And in the other a sin Torn between who he wants to be With everyone else pushing and prodding He doesn't know who to believe He's the guy at the party with the drink in his hand Rambling about how guilty he is But drinking as much as he can
A walking contradiction A Bible in one hand And in the other a sin He can't feel the world around him So he tears himself apart just searching For anything that means something A word or a song or a remedy A book or a person or just maybe An identity
I always hated Sunday mornings So I cursed my retail job Doughnuts and coffee couldn’t make up For the sound of my alarm But that day it was different You came in with your sunglasses on Tattoos on your arm And that was what could have changed it all
You said you’d pick me up at seven That I should bring my dancing shoes along I should’ve asked what you were on We walked into the restaurant It had a ballroom inside I must have stepped on your feet At least a hundred times Your hair smelled like citrus Your breath smelled of gin Your tattoos creeped up and around As we began to spin
You showed up one Sunday evening It was just a couple months in Tears streaming down your face And I just let you in The story came out slowly Each chapter worse than the last I held you in my arms as I Tried to erase the past
I wore a white dress one Sunday morning Flowers in my hair The Wedding March played overhead There was excitement in the air You held my hand and smiled With a chorus of “I do”s Now we’ve got nothing left to prove We made it all the way through
I woke up early one Sunday morning To the baby crying next door I set my feet on the floor But you had gotten there before I found you in the rocking chair And she’s tugging on your hair And I fell in love again
He died on a Sunday morning Sitting in a hospital bed I never thought it would end Our daughter was thirty seven I didn’t know what to do So I went and got a tattoo To remind me of you So I could fall in love again Even after it all ends
I always hated Sunday mornings So I cursed my retail job Doughnuts and coffee couldn’t make up For the sound of my alarm But that day it was different You came in with your sunglasses on Tattoos on your arm But then you stopped and turned around And just like that It was gone