Sitting on a park bench
It was a lovely summer's day
The sound of all those seagulls
We were whiling the time Away.

The garden looked so peaceful
Everyone felt at ease
Relaxing laughing talking
Just a mile away from The sea.

It's name is palace gardens
And it dwells there in the park
It has a display of wonderful things
Like flowers and beautiful art,

It has a war memorial
Of soldiers who died in war
And has a certain atmosphere
One we've never felt before.

Maybe there's a presance of angels
It really feels seriel
If you were here with us
You would know just how we feel.

But nice things don't last forever
Soon it will be homeward bound
We truly had a lovely time
In the palace garden grounds.

Just because you cannot
visibly see it,
doesn't mean
it's not there.

It hides behind the stranger's smile
              behind closed doors
              behind your loved one's eyes
              behind "I'm good."
in plain sight.

The sirens will play
Blood on the highway
Such hazardous parts:
Our menacing hearts

Reason was blinded
Lust hadn't minded
So hopelessly vexed:
We dreaded what's next

Our schemes were derailed
We tried and we failed
She lives by my pen:
Destroyer of Men

Our schemes had begun
My demons had fun
So surely, I find:
I'm losing my mind

In dreams, she appears
I'm plagued by my fears
In silence, we flee:
Regret, death, and me

So solemn and crossed
I'm helplessly lost
Where once she had fled:
She's trapped in my head...

They were so perfect and bright
when I got them that night.
                      Their beauty amazed me;
                       they were such a sight.
He placed them in my hand
and we smelled them together.
                        "Like these roses," he said, "we will last forever."
As time went on,
they roses began to fade.
                         Their beautiful red, pink and white
                         became a lonely grey.
Their rich, full form slowly began
to dwindle.
                           Their large, open petals
                           soon began to shrivel.
They dried up slowly
and one by one they fell,
                            leaving their beauty just a story to tell.
But what about us?
What will we leave behind?

                             Stories about roses that have
                                     dried up and died?

The closed Book
Abandons words
Speaks with lonely eyes
Stores up thoughts
Inside the mind.
A private world inside.
Thinking deep
Mind mesmerized
Ticking time Bomb
Tick tock Tick tock

Could go off at anytime
The private world explodes.
The closed Book
Has been overlooked
By passers bye.
The story never told
And was never heard.

I remember my favourite comedian
He was crazy and acted daft
When I was on the downside
He would put an end to that.

He had a funny way with words
And could often tell a tale
He always drawed attention
His humour it never failed.

He could have been a big name
In a movie or on the stage
And if he chose to be one
I am sure he would make the grade.

He never had to try hard
He liked to play the clown
No one found him annoying
He was fun to have around.

He was full of innuendos
And he almost crossed the line
But he never was affensive
He wasn't that way inclined.

Then that was many years ago
Now he's gone and that is sad
He was my favourite comedian
I should know he was my Dad.