Life often speaks in rhythm & blues
whispering trumpets to bended ears, while reminding us
that smiles belong only in photographs; and tears
behind the curtain of an indifferent face
We walk fine lines, between tragedy
and genius, lines so rarely straight
we seek balance in mediocrity
and solitude in unfinished lifes
We become incomplete puzzles
forcing squares into circular places
by tearing away pieces of the whole
and conforming to the empty spaces
some things were never meant to be changed
We place people into boxes, neatly organizing them
by the labels we give their cracks and flaws
seldom ever realizing that broken has a beauty all it's own, and...
some things were never meant be mended
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Life often speaks in rhythm & blues
whispering trumpets to bended ears, while reminding us
that smiles belong only in photographs; and tears
behind the curtain of an indifferent face
We walk fine lines, between tragedy
and genius, lines so rarely straight
we seek balance in mediocrity
and solitude in unfinished lifes
We become incomplete puzzles
forcing squares into circular places
by tearing away pieces of the whole
and conforming to the empty spaces
some things were never meant to be changed
We place people into boxes, neatly organizing them
by the labels we give their cracks and flaws
seldom ever realizing that broken has a beauty all it's own, and...
some things were never meant be mended
