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Four young men on a rooftop in 1969,
Putting on a show for the very last time.

Not the last for any,
but this was the fab fours end.

Four old men under thirty,
about to start again.

People pointing fingers,
people laying blame.

Surely it can't be over
they'll Get Back again.

They'll travel back down that
Long and Winding Road.

Back to Penny Lane,
where it started so long ago.

Imagine the world without the Beatles,
I wonder if you can.

I remember four young men on a rooftop,
being great again.

Wanting to prove it to the world,
Before they let it end.

Before they let it go,
Before they Let it Be.

And that's the memory of
the Beatles,
I'll always choose to see.
I watched all 9 hours of Peter Jacksons
(Get Back) for the third time. And what always strikes
me is that The Beatles were just Kids not even 30 yet,
trying to find themselves, trying to live up to the expectations
of the world.
It's a hell of a documentary and a must see if you're a Beatles fan.
Let me show you one that's mine;
She, sweet and strong Caroline.

Her hair, a mess of own
Her eyes, radiant of dawn,
Her skin, under sunlight shine
Oh sweet Caroline.

In every journey she embarks,
A new light, shines a new mark.
Her feats cross the skyline,
Oh proud Caroline.

A palace in her name,
It shall grow in fame.
Own the throne, a while,
My sweet Caroline.
She's strong, a brilliant mind, a shine.
She's my sweet Caroline
If they doubt I'm so young,
But simply agree with the rest,
Does that mean I've finally reached a point,
Where I am so good,
There's only up?
Or will I come crashing down,
Is youth my key to fame,
Will they still read me when I grow old,
And this number fades away?
When my hair thins and grays,
Will my name?
Or will I pave my way to legacy?
My ink has a clock,
I'm afraid of it ticking down.
It's always been a question since day one.
You want to know the poet?
You want to know the man?
You can call him Hardison,
He's going for the grand throne,
In that hall of fame.
There's nothing that will halt him,
Till his name's carved in the sky.
I just had a wild night, lot's of cheering from and for me. I'm well known it seems, and this is my moment of braggery. I'll be humble again tomorrow :)
Being admired,
And being loved,
Are two different things.

If you asked young me,
I'd scrap any ounce of love,
Just to be admired.
'Anything to be famous'
Gaze on me now,
I'm not well known,
With my pen taps and frown.

Well the truth is,
I'm real well known,
This just ain't my town.
Finally made it to the weekend, hope everybody is having a great day!
What do you want for yourself, future wise?
I want a future in literature,
A doctorate in English arts,
And a lineup of books for people to read.
No, what do you really want?
Okay, I want a loving wife,
A happy home somewhere warm,
And a pair of kids, daughter and son.
What's the point of being great or rich when you have no one to share it with?
Yes you made it,
Congratulations!
How does it feel,
To be up on the big stage?

It's been a little while,
How are you?
Well if you don't have the time,
To talk you don't have to be rude.

Yes, you've made yourself very clear,
You don't need me at all.
But don't forget,
I'm the reason they saw you,
At all.
Fame corrupts the very principles of people, I think that's the lesson every washed out celebrity manger can teach us.
Hourglass figures; individuals who invest countless hours crafting
a glass figure. When life tosses you around, you’re bound to shatter –
so meagre!

You repugnant creature, crumbling and oozing into this vessel, as
the grains of sand cascade within all the time you thought your
beauty had bought. You gaze at it, chasing the dazzling glow of
notoriety, unaware that such brilliance will gnaw away at your very
bones, leaving you broken and cold.

Within the heart of every renowned star lies a tumultuous inferno,
a labyrinth of madness that serves as your ultimate reward.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2024
~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
in the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.

~
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