Quixotes is a dream,
It's a fireplace and songs
Its strong friendship and
beautiful moments shared
It's a thought that guides souls
to a peaceful way
It's wood and brick paint and posters
built with gentle care and loving soul
Quixotes is a world away from the world
where dance is freedom
Laughter and joy are the air we breath
Song a rich tapestry that tells the tale
of how we came to be
Song a river that has flowed thru our lives
in this palace, in this beautiful dream
Quixotes is a sweet jem
sparkling in the sun
forever home for our hearts

he was a tin man
ever shy in the shadow of snow
and the asphalt encrusted with salt.
i am a deaf mute in its cold sunshine thru the bare trees
i am the writers reader caught up in the manyfold words
bright and crisp on my stuttering tongue
caught up in the beauty of the phrase
wishing only for its tender workings on my pale lips
caught in the web of light falling thru the bare trees
by the christmas tree so forlorn in febuary wind...
he was a soft spoken tin man
ever shy in the shadow of snow
and the asphalt encrusted with salt
the turbulent sea of my dreams
lashes line and sail with its icebound hand
as i stray between the vision you wept in ink on page
and the words you spoke
soft as a kittens fur
into my sleeping ear
a spun tale
thrashing against me
i am shy with my eyes flirting with yours
look away and recapture your gaze
the asphalt at my feet stained with winters salt
i leave my footprint behind
and wander away into the field of rye
swaying under a cold sun
never to hear the tin man sing again
after he was caught by the catcher in the rye

a poetic darkness clings to
the edges of the room
ageless in its mental aberration
all the years of its incessant whispering softly the sounds
of a life forsaken to a hunt for
all the things that can never be prized possession
all the things that forever slip through seeking fingers....

my face demonized in the mirror  
unchanged except by the years
still holds the taint and taste of her words
like a thick oily poison slowly seeping
from the soil of my eye
where such lovely dreams once grew
now only a parody of silhouette dark upon a shadow
the void form of a man against the cloudless gray sky

an emperor's tongue speaks regal
but the words spoken fall like black leaves from a black tree
dead and devoid of all aspects of a beautiful fall day
an emperor's tongue lavishly paints visions of such beauty to come
but like the footprints in newly fallen snow they are
doomed to fade in the sun
little lies constructed to tell the willing girl
that her satisfactions lay not in the mirror
but in the pit of some man's soul
in the vile places of lust and longing
her love to become a void form against the grandeur of starlight
her plans for the wedding now only faded ink written by a child

my face demonized in the mirror
I seek to choke out the words that would spell an end
to this mournful song
seek to extinguish the doubts and rages that haunt that image  
I am the one who has made this face in the mirror
carved it out of the stone in my heart
I am the one who sees its ***** lines its twisted fable
my hand slips to the light switch and
turns off the forever eating at my soul