The glen where felled men slept
Where the creek’s deep bed trembled, reeled
Where the green ferns, restless, crept
Where the breezes blew, flew, wheeled
Where the trees, the sweet elms wept
Where the gentle red wrens nested
Where the elks, when freed, then stepped
Where the fleet, serene deer rested
Where the scented bells were kept
Where the jeweled, fresh dew met green
The glen where felled men slept,
Where men were never seen

GLEN CAMPBELL HAS PASSED AWAY
HE WAS THE RHINESTONE COWBOY
HE HAD STYLE CHARACTER AND WIT
BUT MOST OF ALL TRUE GRIT  



I WILL MEET YOU AT BONAPARTE'S RETREAT
I AM THE WICHITA LINEMAN
HIS MUSIC WILL STAY IN OUR HEART
BECAUSE ALL HIS SONGS WE LIKED THEM



THERE ARE SINGERS IN THE WORLD AND THEN
SUPERSTARS THAT JUST PASS BY
BUT TOO LOSE GLEN CAMPBELL
MAKES MY BEATING HEART CRY


A TRUE MUSIC LEGEND

Racing a dry leaf
Down a wind-swept, winding road.
The moon bears witness.

Ahead, in the glimpses of light
Pushing through the clouds
Small trails in the dew.

Dark, tangled foliage
Arches over patches of
Road, obscuring forest
Sounds.

A jagged tree trunk
Marks the entrance to the glen.
Leaves cover the path, undisturbed.  

Within the valley, a sudden cloud of birds swirls in the
Cool evening wind.  Rushing of wings.  
They soon settle back in the glen, masked in darkness.

"I could have been yours."
A mental script that echos in her mind throughout her solitary nocturnal escapade.
A  combination of five simple words that is strong enough to freeze fire or liquefy a a neglected dream.
The perfect conclusion to justify a tragedy -
A tragedy so pure and so close to being a sunset-filled day in between the lines of a fanciful short story,
Yet it also cuts a beautiful outline of its history through her tongue.
It pierces through her skin like fangs of a tormented beast.
A carpet of shattered glasses rest under her bare feet,
He was not there to close the colossal distance that appeared in between.

I can't remember when
I asked you to be mine
I have lost that memory
Somewhere in my mind

I can't remember when
You said to me "I do"
I have lost that memory
It's only known by you

I can't remember things
I'm always at a loss
I have lost those memories
But, I don't know at what cost

I can't remember when
I last said "I love you"
I have lost that memory
Each day is all brand new

I can not remember who I am or who you are
I look up into the sky, and can't wish on a star
I know that I once loved you, but my mind won't go that far
I don't know who I am or who you are

I told myself I wouldn't write for an entire month,
but as my anxiety attack of a mindset
blended with my desire to fly
I realized I was driving with the windows down
when the rain outside was pouring down my arm,
making a puddle at the thigh of my pants.
I had never once felt bliss like this.
The night sky kissed my open wounds
like mother nature was trying to let me know
everything will be okay.
I was told that I was nothing,
spat to the ground as the words left your lips
and you took a drag from that cigarette
you've been trying to quit for months now.
So I realize you are weak,
clinging to the addictions you cannot escape from
and I'm not talking about the cigarette stained teeth
or the coffee smeared t shirt..
You are self-destructive.
just as quick as 3-2-1
you explode your insecurities onto others
and I will no longer let that be me.

I fell in love once and didn't know it.
The eyes I saw the world from were blinded
by your keen distaste for life
and your knack for self-righteous cynicism
I grew up thinking love was just a myth
and no one, not even me was worthy of it
Then someone made me realize that the life I lived
was the one that made me who I was-
which was someone worthy of love.

So as I drove with the windows down
and rain pouring on my cheeks,
I realized this is manic if I had an explanation for it.
Then I smiled and realized
this is the closest I've ever felt to flying
and ******* I don't ever wanna come down.
So let me lift myself up until I can no longer
remember what it feels like to be grounded,
where all the logic is nonexistent
where I can learn to love myself again.  
That's where I was, that's where I'll always be
the day I picked back up my pen.