Maybe we both
forced out
predictions of love
And lust
and everything in between.
But
it's not that
we ever really
wanted to see each other
as much as
we simply
wanted to know
how much the other
wanted to be seen.

temporarily unavailable

Hey this is your Baby Dino speaking loud and clear
Don't fear my dear what may be scary now, because soon your vision will clear
Wipe away those tears, I don't want to see them, I promised a great year
Remember New Years, I said I'd adhere to us and I was being sincere
If I'm unclear, close your eyes and reopen them, I'm still here
Unlike Houdini I will not disappear. So turn that frown upside down and replace it with cheer
Listen close as I whisper in your ear, we're in this together like two atoms that cohere
I know that I'm not as cute as others but steer cause your hands are on the shift gear and if I'm mistreated it will be severe
My heart races rapidly like an auctioneer and I don't want to interfere
We're aeronautical engineers concerned that our place might not be able to fly
The Wright brothers didn't give up on their first design
Patience. Wait in line at a decline but we will be fine
We may crash but our fingers will be intertwined always coming out on cloud nine
Our story has a crazy plot line and you're not the supporting role, climbing up the vine
I'll be on the front line to take the damage and don't shake your head at me because the bull is MY sign
I may be hot but bring out the red cape and I'll be hot headed leaving nothing left but the enemies chalk line
Bottom line is that I'll always have your back so you might as well recline
We say not to cross lines but in order to finish the race you have to get through it
The radical sign is in front of our problems so we need to get to the root of them this time
Apart we are two pieces but together a beautiful design

Ernest, *you  are the embodiment
of every melancholic song,
playing in the rooms of aching souls
with broken hearts.

You are the dark sky
that the sun has abandoned;
the wrinkled and weathered body
that youth forgot.

Despondently, you sit,
Day-after-day,
in that beige, aged lounge chair--
(which just like you, has seen better days)
rising from the dead,
only to scowl
about the ways in which your body has
failed you.

"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."

Six months to live*
but you're already gone
and I
can’t
bring
you
back.

Blow, winds, blow

He wanders in and out of dream scapes,
Seeking refuge from the nameless ache,
The burn of a thousand cloudless days.

The tumbleweed of his joy blows in the dunes of neglect,
Vaguely rooted in the sands of discontent.

Blow, winds, blow!
Shift the sand beneath his feet,
Tumble him to the river of rejoice,
Where his seeds can bury deep
In the fertile soil of complete.


Walk on, Lonely Pilgrim

Would that you would go a spell further,
Fight a round harder, walk a mile longer,
Perhaps you will see the clear waters,
The soaring vistas, the spring flowers.

Sandstorms blind your eyes and sting your throat,
Your music lost into the wind.

Walk on, lonely pilgrim,
Walk on, and meet me
In the green valley,

It's just 'round the bend.

I've a song to play for you!



Welcome Song for the Weary Traveler


With unsure steps, tread the ground,
Gaze out with open eyes.
Cast away all fear and doubt.
Let the music sing your soul!

This river will wash your bedrock,
Polish the rough stones of your longing,
Flow away your worried mind.

When this love-seed settles in the soil of your heart,
Your rose will bloom, in fertile field,
Where nightingale warbles its melodious tune.

Lay down your head upon alfalfa pillow,
Let the music take you high,
Where daffodil dreams and mystic streams
Sing you sweetest lullaby.

Now close your eyes and feel the pull
This song, the lodestone to your heart,
Drawing out your own sweet tune.

Hear gentle clouds that roll on by,
Smell sweet the scented breeze in sky,

Feel the love,
                  
                      Let go,
                              
                                   *Now fly


Lonely Pilgrim Dreams


The lonely pilgrim fell asleep on his pillow of dreams,
As minstrel sung songs that floated on air.
He struggled to wake from his trance like state,
As he found himself deep in the quagmire of regret,
Wondering how he had found himself
Wandering in green valleys,
How he had been so easily lulled to sleep.

He wondered, too, if dreams are ever real,
And what he would see at morning's light.

Minstrel sang on, into the night,
Singing all good things into his heart,
Breathing love into his pillow,
Playing for light,
Playing the tune of her heart strings that night.

She was not sure what song she sang anymore,
But wanted to sing,
And sing some more.