multicolored lights flashing
slowly, slowly, slowly
smoke from cigarettes wafting
slowly, slowly, slowly

you take in the smells and sights
of the small room that you're in
it's a crap hole, you cannot lie
perhaps that is why you're drawn to it

how can such lovely sounds
come from such a humble place
a place that makes you stink of
smoke and alcohol, sadness and joy  

I see their dark silhouettes against
the spotlights of the dim room
I see their fingers dancing across strings and keys
I see a single man keeping a heartbeat alive

he hits the drums and plays like
he's going to make the room fall apart
with a cacophony of loud crashes and
a choir of subtle tapping, all together

they play like they want the world to know
of the mess they hold within themselves
the mess that wants to create art for all
those who are willing to listen can hear it

not a single beat can ever be repeated the same way
not a single moment can ever be duplicated again
this is no song, this is no empty stream of notes and tones
this is a conversation between artists and dreamers

these are their hopes and wishes
these are their darkest secrets
things they will only ever share once
this is beauty and chaos as a whole

this is jazz

life is fleeting
one moment, you see her eyes
they are fighting to stay bright
and then she's whisked away

the pain consumes her body
she can no longer move
her eyes become dull and tired
but she has been trying
she tried until the very end

beautiful child
you were too wonderful
to remain in this world
that is why the heavens took you
that is what i want to believe

beautiful baby
you are a child of the stars
for you are radiant and ethereal
you will be missed
you will be remembered

this earth has been blessed by your presence
you made my life a happier one
the ground mourns without your weight on it
the sky cries without your happy grin
this world has become a more desolate place

we love you dearly, and i keep a part of you with me
and now that your pain has ended, sweet child
we hope you have finally found peace

i. he is a dancer,
he moves with such grace
he's spent his youth
dancing in front of mirrors,
he knows the way his body moves
as much as he is sure of himself

ii. he is starlight
he has seen the cosmos
and through his smile
he shares the wonders of the world
i could never see for myself

iii. he is a gentleman
he regards everyone sincerely
chivalrous in his beauty,
he walks with kindness
and acts with heart

iv. he is a storyteller
after his past of good and bad,
he is what he says
words stream from his mind
like rain drops on windows
he speaks with purpose
without ever intending to hurt anyone
but only wanting to love

v. he is my lionheart,
he braves the flashing lights
he does not mind being himself
raw and out in the open
he carries his books around
and can be silly without a care

vi. he is a wonder
shining among the chaos of his world,
and even king midas could not
conjure a heart as golden as his.

you always say you were never good with words,
but it's your wide eyes
and strong hands, soft touch,
that speak to me in hushed tones

as for me, my heart goes wild
with mad love and adoration for you,
so much that when i try to speak
the words stumble and i am tongue tied

so it always ends with you
and me
and the quiet
and the way we both lack a way with words,
yet the comfortable silence we share
amplifies the light of love
bursting in our hearts

of all the lives i could have lived,
i am glad i happen
to be in the same lifetime as yours.

but again here comes the world,
with all its silly ironies—
its vastness that sets people apart
miles and miles;
our paths crossing
is quite out of the picture.

i know this.
you don't.
i think of you.
you don't.

but why do i keep waiting for you
as if i'd suddenly find you outside,
standing by my door
and waiting for me too?

this life tells me i have never known you before,
but your face is already an image i have seen,
your voice is a resounding song in my head,
your speech and your thoughts feel so familiar
as if i have already spent time talking to you
until the wee hours of the morning,
and our thoughts seem to connect and weave into fabric
as warm as the blankets that cover me at night.

it is strange, isn't it?
the way a stranger could feel so familiar?
i do not know why,
but i believe that we have met at some point in the past,
perhaps we already knew each other
when we were living previous lives
we cannot call ours at present.

but whether it is fate or coincidence,
i am glad our paths have crossed again.

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Michaelangelo's David could have healed my brother
Rimbaud could have saved Hiroshima
Monet could have painted the world in shades of peace
Desiderata could have protected me
But this is the real world
And where poetry once grew comes the art of fabrication
Dali's obras are no longer enough to make me forget
Moonlight Sonata never warned me of this hurt
The waltz never healed a broken family

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Beethoven wouldn't have gone deaf
Van Gogh would have been happy
Hemingway would have loved better
And Ginsberg wouldn't have been afraid to love

Yet here they all are
When the only light I see is on hundred year old canvas
When the only solace I have is a dead man's words
When the only thing that keeps my heart thundering
Is the promise of a Boticelli ending in Picasso figures
All colors, beauty, light and metaphors
The promise of a Renaissance gleaming in the ashes of prose

This is the real world
I suppose if the arts had any real power
It would heal more than just my heart
It would build me a new Garden of Eden
And I'd pave a way to nirvana
So the world could join hands
And start anew

But it's saved me for now
That is enough.