(Old Lyrics referring to those heard from "vinyl" albums of the 1960s)
from dusty cardboard covers
and winged time that flew by
oh poetic ponderous parchment
you have become my sacrament
my sense and soul, my mind’s eye
my grandchild cries in the background
faux fighting to stay awake
while I sit in monitored light
distracted by her playful plight
penning lines for others to partake
some have scripture and prayer
to make their journey into the divine
I plunk rhapsodic rhyme on an electric page
inspired by what I read in a golden age
now seen by me in tragic decline
so I whisper words of the mystical muse
and let them be my guiding light
and weave me through this tangled dream
like some moonbeam on a trickling stream
flowing into my deepening night
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 3:35 PM UTC
(Old Lyrics referring to those heard from "vinyl" albums of the 1960s)
from dusty cardboard covers
and winged time that flew by
oh poetic ponderous parchment
you have become my sacrament
my sense and soul, my mind’s eye
my grandchild cries in the background
faux fighting to stay awake
while I sit in monitored light
distracted by her playful plight
penning lines for others to partake
some have scripture and prayer
to make their journey into the divine
I plunk rhapsodic rhyme on an electric page
inspired by what I read in a golden age
now seen by me in tragic decline
so I whisper words of the mystical muse
and let them be my guiding light
and weave me through this tangled dream
like some moonbeam on a trickling stream
flowing into my deepening night
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