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If a person would starve,
just so he could eat...
How could you think...
she would want him to suffer?

If a person would walk miles with him,
just to be sure he is safe...
How could you think...
she would want to harm him?

If a person would make sacrifices,
to ease his burden...
How could you think...
she would add to his worries?

If a person would silently cry all night,
feeling his sorrows and troubles...
How could you think...
she would hurt him? *

If a person has promised and have always,
kept his secrets safe with her...
How could you think...
she would intentionally betray his trust?

If a person could do anything,
just to make him smile, to see him happy...
How could you think...
she would deceive him?

If a person have done all the things that she could,
to prove that he means the world to her...
How could you think...
she would deliberately disappoint him?

If a person cannot imagine,
him not by her side as who he has always been...
How could you think...
she wouldn't care to lose him?

If a person have always treasured,
all that he have shared with her...
How could you think...
she would dare to make him feel this way?

If a person is only a person,
Only a human who made a stupid mistake...
How could you think...
she did not fall on her knees...
beating herself for the crime she had not committed?

If a person have always put him,
before herself...
How could you think
her heart is not breaking just as much?
She would take away his pain, but never would she want to cause him pain.
.
In the dreamlands of sun,
He streams the invisible rivers
Of lit glories to come,

Careens, lording the beams,
Airs, above the ordinary
Grasses that dry in the gleams,

With eyes that wash over kills,
The forking fowl and mealy vole,
Hare in the runaway hills,

High above the fourth wall, stead-
Fast, stately in his dress,
To commencements of death,

Where eagle strikes with talon,
Crescent as day moon,
Sudden, silent to the cast fallen.
The fourth wall is the imaginary "wall" at the front of the stage in a traditional three-walled box set in a proscenium theatre, through which the audience sees the action in the world of the play.
.
 Apr 2016 Christopher K Bayliss
r
Love is like driftwood
coming and going
with the tide

Love is a hurt animal
breaking the quiet
of the night

Love is like smoke
through a spiderweb
hard to hold onto

Love is pleasure, love is pain
like sunshine and rain.
when i hear your voice
i feel like smoking a million cigarettes
and drink tens of bottles of wine
i see pictures of your smile
i hear you protesting in wise words
and saying all the things
about people who are not heard

the way your harmonica sounds
and your guitar strings
they lift me to heaven
and bring me back to earth
a vision of love and hate
your voice
something so strong,
my ordinary ears cannot understand sometimes
your words

some say you don't have the voice
but the way i hear it
i can't compare it to anything
not to angels
nor to demons
you have the right kind of soul
the kind they will never get to know

i wish you'd never disappear
never go
i know
a stupid illusion
but in my heart you are the one
making my rainy days bright
your songs they make me smile
every time i hear them in my room.

i had a dream
you were sitting next to me
typing some words
and as much as I deny it
i know
it was the most wonderful image
i'll ever get to see.

playing with words is your best game
a mystery
a lost soul
a rough voice
and gentle touch of strings
a mad voice in a world
with nothing to believe in
to you
i'll drink a glass
and in my heart
your music will be
the only thing that will ever last.
I was never your white knight
More like your sweet light
Loving fan adoring you from afar
Mirroring your affections
From a distance
In poetry
And for the kindness you shared
That was so much your nature
I thank you
And I wish that there were more
Angels like you out there
A block from the office
the city is tearing down an overpass.
Today they're beating the **** out of it
with a pneumatic hammer
the size of a freight train.
Its pounding
in time with my heartbeat
like the worlds largest metronome
suspended from the end of a crane.

Bang – Bang – Bang – Bang

I keep wondering
what’s going to happen
to all those buskers and hookers
who peddle their wares under that bridge.
I'm not seeing it though and
no observation means no poetry.
No poetry means no catharsis, and
my guts are full of hornets.

Bang – Bang – Bang – Bang

It’s the great whisky **** of the spirit,
the all-encompassing lack of passion;
the longing for old friends;
the desire to lean on old habits
the chinks in something resembling old armor.
the crease, the seam, the fold.

Bang – Bang – Bang – Bang

Misfire on eight.
Misfire on eight.
Misfire on eight.
There’s this pain in my head;
behind the left eye
where the secrets live.
driving and grief stricken.
(misfire on eight.)
The headache has no name, but
it sings a song.

Bang – Bang – Bang – Bang
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