part of me wants to forget
the feel of you against me,
skin-on-skin,
the scent of your hair,
and that little sigh you make.

part of me wants to wash it all away,
to move on like it never happened,
and pick up my life where i last left it,
as though we never met.

part of me wants to wrench my heart
out of my chest and leave it laying there,
pumping out the last reserves until
the beating finally fades and  tissue turns cold,
and my body falls next to it,
unseeing eyes absorbing the scene.

and part of me wants
to only go back to when things were good,
and my world with you made sense.
but this part - this last little part -
it grows smaller every day,
and i am afraid that it will be replaced
with empty bitterness.

part of me doesn't want that.
part of me does.

i hear the music of the early morning,
a forest waking with the summer sun
and the scent of hemlock and dew
that i recall from my childhood.
this sacred place,
marked by Time itself, and yet, timeless,
fills my spirit with the awe of ages past,
and native peoples in whose footsteps i now tread.
the face of the rock remembers them,
and as i reach out to touch it,
i am met with a glimpse into what the Earth has seen,
and how she mourns for simpler times,
when all heard the same music,
and danced together in the hot summer morning.

i went into the field
to be alone with nature
and the universe -
i trampled the path and made myself a bed,
soft grasses and reeds bent under me,
and i watched the night through,
and swatted at the night-flies and
and scratched against the weeds,
i wrapped my coat around me
and suffered the chill of night,
and the early rise of the summer dawn
came upon me and stunned me awake,
and i cursed its brightness,
as i turned to go back to the safety and warmth of my home,
no answers having come to me.

the pavement sings a quiet hum
where the rubber of the bus tires meet the road,
and inside i sit and strum
on my father's old guitar
making up the words as i go.
somehow the words always come back
to the places that i've traveled
to the echoes of the hearts i've known and loved,
to when we were young and free,
and the world was ours to grab,
back when we were legends in our minds.


Now i'm about a hundred miles
down a road that you can't follow,
speeding on the highway past towns i'll never know.
living life the way i need
full of joys and sorrows,
and always missing you as i go.


the road is lonely, where I'm going,
and the journey feels so very long,
it's tiring living out this life in the way i'm doing it,
on this stage, night after night
just me and the songs.
no one sees behind the bright lights,
and the photos in the green room,
or looks behind the smiles and public face,
no one sees the nightmares of memories long ago,
or wipes the ears away from my face.

Now i'm about six hundred miles
down a road that you can't follow,
speeding on the highway past towns i'll never know.
living life the way i need
full of joys and sorrows,
and always missing you as i go.

always life upon the stage,
or in this rolling metal cage,
one more autograph on a page -
i haven't been home in an age....

Now i'm about a thousand miles
down a road that you can't follow,
speeding on the highway past towns i'll never know.
living life the way i need
full of joys and sorrows,
and always missing you as i go.

want to stop,
know it's wrong,
know this is a one-way ticket
to a bad place,
an empty hole.

just one more,
just a bit,
it won't hurt if it's only so much,
i can master it,
take control.

one little bit turns,
now it's more,
another shovelful of dirt covers
the silver-laquered coffin
in a grave dug in soil that
should have been for someone old
and now homes someone young.

and everyone stares and says its a shame,
but one guy down the street just started
something,
knowing he's in control, too,
just a little won't hurt...

empty today,
unable to focus on the daily things,
because the world hurts so much.
I can usually hide from this pain,
but this -
this wanton destruction of life -
it will scar,
and i will never be rid of it.

but if i could be rid of it,
would i be able to take action,
or lulled back into my cave of complacency?

a brief glimpse in passing,
our eyes connected,
yours were weary in the morning,
maybe from lack of sleep,
or maybe you've seen too much life,
or perhaps it was just a long week,
and you're ready for something different.

i imagine you in a different place,
out with friends, laughing and smiling,
carefree, maybe flirting a little,
enjoying life as it was meant to be.

i wonder what they call you -
a nickname,
a friendly moniker,
or maybe something you hate.

to me, you're simply the girl at the bus stop,
but just seeing you there made my day a little better.