Underneath a duplex in it's basement a wide assortment of pipes and appliances are mounted everywhere. Some pipes hang from the ceiling disconnected. Holes stuffed with insulation in the concrete foundation. The musician may sit and listen to the sounds of rushing water, boilers and furnaces kicking on and find music in it. The poet may find beauty in the mystery of it all and mention it as a metaphorical line in an upcoming piece
But when the plumber walks down
he sees it for what it truly is. He understands the sounds, the disconnections, the holes left behind by absent appliances, what goes where and why. Inside his mind he sees every movement of every machine, can pick any problem out of sounds and gauges. Imagine having an acute understanding of the world around you and how to work with it. I'm starting to think being a dreamer is more of a coping mechanism than anything.
I'd say I aspire to be a plumber
But I'd just be another poet making another stupid analogy.
Midnight of summers
the waking of dreamers
breathes in the new winds
hearts beat rebelling
excitement and yearning
watering the seed sown
the days lay hope driven
wiring the electric intent
comes the feverish sentiment
night passing by, days out
without pausing by doubt
fueling the ambition
with every emotion
taking the moons comfort
connecting many dots
to make the dreams come true
bring back the light hue.
falling asleep in the morning
i woke up at night
with the moon hovering
over my coffee
but it was just the light
the shining down
on me like a voice saying,
you cannot bury yourself
in the gloom
of the night
and the moon
it does not shine
just half its light
and the moon
will never be as bright
as when lovers and dreamers
first found the night.
a community of wildflowers pretending to be roses.
befriending what we believe are better plants,
and covering themselves in lavender.
they dip their petals and spikes into ink,
and they pretend that they are feathers,
and with these feathers they pretend to be birds,
and being birds is the only way they feel free.
they are left uncared for and wilted down,
they are overlooked and thrown away,
they are called pests and flower killers.
but they are beautiful,
they are powerful and everpresent,
they are proof that no matter how much pulling them out,
cutting them down, and praying them away, wildflowers are here to stay.
I saw the borders, they were open
Open for the huddled masses
I saw the sunny rain, trying to help
If it’s still true, why do I smell burning ashes?
I’m beginning to grieve, is it a just life?
I want a heart full of gladness
Is there a way to know how,
Is it mixed with too much sadness?
I drew a face in the sand; it washed away
We were all young once,
We don’t need the ocean to remind us
The wistful world lives inside the conchs
I wonder who can make me see
I already know, a bridge crosses my mind
It wasn’t a trick or a politic
Her hand was outstretched to mine
I saw the borders, they're still open
The birds fly over, following the sun
And the poor are still walking
Away from the gloom, towards God’s son
I think oft what it would be like to be one of them
To look at the world through rose colored glasses
Where the world is perfect according to my childhood dreams
In that dream I would be a pilot, handsome and tall
A world traveler to boot
I would be married to the girl next door
The vivacious blonde with that voluptuous figure
Somehow as if by magic I would be rich as well as famous
My model looks would have me featured in a magazine
This would be a follow up to my bestselling book which is
Now being turned into the greatest movie of all time
The movie is a documentary about my days as a rock star
It would highlight my younger years
As a pro athlete and renowned artist extraordinaire
The captivating television interview for my hit movie
Held at my countryside estate overlooking the ocean
It is prominently featured in Homes & Gardens magazine
Having won the lottery my days are filled with
Time to spend with family and friends at will
Or inventing the greatest next best thing
My ideal children seemingly raise themselves
To become childhood prodigies
When I come back to reality in my modest home
Readying myself to go to my everyday job
And writing poetry waiting to be discovered
I wonder “Is this as good as it gets”
You carry love deep within your soul
you carry your heart,
still healthy and whole.
and even in those times your hurt,
emotionally numb with no control
A natural gift of love, you still give to all.
In a person's book
you'll be in more than just a chapter
you're one of the main characters,
always known as a lover
such joy that they'll always remember
accompanied by your contagious love and laughter.