Lets count the stars tonight
Under the comfort of dreams
Just you and me
Lets count the stars each night
Until the end of my life
For the rest of your life
Count them down to one
When the star that warms the day
Comes crawling over the distant
And cast shade over us
Then let us rest under this tree
Planted by you
Planted by me
Under the comfort of dreams
Where we will lay until the sun sleeps
Then lets count the stars again
And again and
again
Till we have counted every one
And recorded every breath
And felt every beat
And died over and over
In each others arms
While counting the stars
Under the comfort of dreams

my dream was so vivid
hauntingly so
two old best friends and I
causing mischief
in a shopping centre
just like the old days
I haven't seen them both
in so very long
I can't help but wonder
how they are
despite the fact that
they both hurt me
very badly
I still feel the pain today
not often but the scars
are certainly still there
naturally I kept waking up
trying to escape the agony
of my prominent
but less illustrious past

everytime I fell asleep again
I found myself in the same dream
exactly where I left it
only to then wake up
hot and cold at the same time
thanks to night sweats
the strange thing is
in my dream I was happy
enjoying the company
of two old friends
despite the fact that
I kept waking up saddened
horrified and alone
I can't forget my past
I don't even want to
it made me who I am
I just don't want to relive it

or miss it

Polished and refined,
With death I have found
A life below ground
A place I can call mine
Destruction and evil deeds
A breeding of pure hate
Is all that I can create
Out of all these heartless seeds

I punch them in
To the deep sullen dirt
Water them with vengeance
And a sprinkling of hurt
Tonight is the night
I find what dwells below
I don't have a key
But I can bargain with my soul
As I place it into these seeds
I am but reeds in the grass
I'm letting go
Only Heaven knows
The blackness of Hell's wrath

I plant my lifeless soul in this plot
To groom it as it grows
So slowly that nobody knows
It's the place the devil goes to rot
Watered with tears, warmed with fire
And as time stands still, never changing
This fruition of evil continues growing
Until the depths of hell can go no higher

Then it will bloom
A flowering gloom
Growing out of control
The ground will harden
In this here garden
Fertilized by my soul

The power of music
and friendship
heals dead connections;
a well-meaning member
of a jam session
offers me a guitar.
I politely decline,
embarrassed by my disability,
and they shrug.  Your choice.
The familiar curves
beneath my arm
like a woman
from my past,
my amnesiac left hand
reaches for the
muscle memory
of fifty years' practice.
After an agonizing minute,
the G chord miraculously plays,
as I played it at five,
the three big fingers alone
strong enough to hold it.
The switch to C impossible;
so I play a variation.
Doesn't sound bad with the group.
My God, I might play a D7
by the next time it comes around
in the song.
The gang is playing old standards,
Ohio State music;
three chords and a cloud of dust,
which suits my present skill(?) well.
I almost cried when a few tunes later,
we sang A Horse With No Name
to my accompaniment.

Beethoven was deaf, yet heard the Ode To Joy.
Hawking is paralyzed, and travels the universe.
I have three good fingers,
and no good excuses.