I'd like to write a poem
Unlike any other one

A poem that brings to mind
All the best of times

One that doesn't take away
From the point it wants to make

A very special poem
Enjoyed by everyone

It doesn't have to bring world peace
That would be nice but there really is no need

This poem will have done it's part
If it touches just one heart

Taking from the best it has
Then giving it all back again

That to me would be the poem
Unlike any other one

by a crackling fire
with an untuned guitar
as the sun makes its way to its bed

just a few friends
and a bottle of drink
as we discuss all the signs we misread

the uncertain future
regrets of the past
we ask how the world keeps on spinning

from friends to lovers
and lovers to strangers
we're desperate for our new beginnings

so we stop all the talking
and find a way out
you pick up a guitar and you strum

we sing and clap
and knock our drinks back
as our minds begin coming undone

Everything now is bass ackwards
Nothing is the same
Up is down, in is out
Early is now late

Where we end at the beginning
Right out the starting gate
Tomorrow is the day before
And the day before was yesterday

All that's left in what was right
Is not so clearly seen
What was once considered outside
Is now the in between

What used to pass for happy
Now comes off more than sad
And every day of the week
Is like a Wednesday night gone bad

We could talk about it
But what is there to say
When everything is bass ackwards
And it's sure to stay that way

I am older than I have ever been
and feel younger than I have ever felt
I find myself looking at life
the same way I imagine a children would
everything is beginning to seem new again
I seek a higher quality of knowledge than I was given
all the while realizing it is all a matter of perspective
and it was always up to me to decide my direction
the physical world I live in does not feel like home
just because I was born a human being
does not mean that I belong

one day we'll shake
our heads out like
flowers in spring,
like our hair was
on fire to light up
the fields, and we
would watch on
to those who sang
their songs for us
and only for us
as we are always
there, for them,
as though we're
weeds in thought.