Tonight,
I write a poem for the director
who's life was written in cut time
when he thought he had nothing but time.
And while the music flows and grows,
the ones left behind move on with their movements.
Tonight, I write a poem for the actor who took is final bow,
but before he did he taught me to sing like no one was watching,
and when that didn't work,
sing to someone I love.
Sometimes you light a candle to remember
and end up burning from both ends
and in your desperation for safety
you end up with nothing but a soft mass of wax
that can be used to seal a memory you long to keep.
Our lives are like kites soaring to the sky,
crashing down,
only to be raised one more time,
holding onto the world by one small string,
and nothing but a tale to leave behind.
And at the end of the kite string there is a little girl
in awe of the tail like its a comet,
bursting across the sky with the intensity of the sun.
And maybe, one day,
she will tell her son or daughter about the
inspirations that reside among the stars.