He sometimes thinks of his boyhood friends,
Those long summer nights that seemed without end,
They walked the dark streets,
With ants in their seats,
When they had all the time in the world to spend

Invading backyards doing handstands and flips,
Acting like Elvis and swiveling their hips,
On most of those nights,
Some music took flight,
On the air from their lungs passing through their pursed lips

They sang and whistled the hours away,
After cooking up tunes all during the day,
And their only care,
Was the warm evening air,
Baking harmony into a Doo-*** souffle

I beseech thee dream weaver
For tomorrow's sake
May you spin no frightful yarn
that may force by bed awake
Grant me this one request
of a good night's sleep
So, when I rise, I'll be my best
from slumber long and deep

Why it always vexes me
I really cannot say
The birds, they tried to warn me
when they flew away
Warm memories of summer
Made known they’d rather stay
to help me with the stony cold
of a winter day

Sitting in a room draped in Victorian decor,
I was talking to a small, gray-haired man,
Expounding on the theories of the universe,
Beneath the whir of a ceiling fan

He asked for my thoughts on Quantum theory,
“Interesting my friend but, you’re not really close.”
Though his statement did confuse me,
I said nothing to my esteemed host

Indeed, it was a tremendous honor,
To be in the presence of one of history’s giants,
To say nothing of his contributions,
To the field of science

It wasn’t the least bit clear,
Why he was conversing with me,
Then, he adjusted his glasses,
And sipped the last of his tea

He said that the way to the truth,
Was through the existence of the soul,
The ancient sages were right,
The “Age of Reason” had betrayed us all.

We rose from our seats,
  Said goodbye at the door,
And walked into the space,
Next to the Victorian décor.

Comedy can mock tragedy
As long the lion stays in it’s cage

As he stares out the window
Death slowly moves in for the ****
Ignoring the lively cigarette ash
lying upon the sill
And another drink
helps him sink
even more into his empty will

Don't find many smiles
in those very old photographs
Maybe, it's the look of hardship
hiding in the sepia
Barely a grin
Not quite a frown
Glad to be alive
But, not quite gratitude
Expressions that seem to say
"Don't worry friend
it will all be over soon enough"