You like string music?
Wow, I do too,
In fact I used to play.

Do I miss playing?
Well of course I do,
I remorse everyday for my string wings,
And how they were taken from me.

I owe almost everything to rap music (Flower Boy, Wolf, Yonkers.)
I
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t
W
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t For Tyler and all the things he says I would've never wrote again.

Life is but a song of sorrows,
Days can feel like miserable melodies.
Our heartstrings plucked,
Chords that resonate with tragedy.  

The beating drum, a dark percussion,
Can serve as rhythm to the chorus of our love and joy.
That which is memorized by heart,
In every generation, the song is sung.  

In every life, a note is played—
Lows entwined with our highest moments,
Giving credence to suffering,
Unifying our spirits in a grand orchestra,  

Composing a symphony of our very soul.

(Intro - Strings softly, like a gentle breeze)

I. (Flute - Bright and playful)
A sun-kissed park, a whispered jest,
Two souls entwined, no room for rest,
From laughter shared, a joyful start,
A melody of hopeful heart.
No shadows lingered, skies so blue,
A world of dreams, just me and you.

II. (Oboe - Slightly melancholic, but sweet)
A distant hum, a whispered fear,
Of broken dreams, and unshed tears,
A family's weight, a stifling hold,
A future planned, a story told,
That wasn't ours, a path astray,
A different tune, we longed to play.

III. (Clarinet - Rich and warm, a comforting tone)
A quiet talk, a listening ear,
A shared burden, banishing fear,
"I understand," a gentle sigh,
"Let's face the world, you and I."
A kindred spirit, strong and true,
A helping hand, to see us through.

IV. (French Horn - Bold and confident)
The horn proclaims, a vibrant call,
A spirit rising, standing tall,
"No more regrets, no looking back,"
"We'll forge our path, on the right track."
A symphony of courage bold,
A story waiting to unfold.

V. (Flute & Oboe - Intertwined, a duet of understanding)
The flute and oboe softly blend,
A melody of hearts that mend,
"Your pain I feel, your dreams I know,"
"Together we'll help our spirits grow."
A shared compassion, deep and bright,
Guiding us through the darkest night.

VI. (Clarinet & French Horn - Building in strength and harmony)
The clarinet joins, a steady beat,
The French horn's voice, can't be beat,
"We'll face the world, hand in hand,"
"A symphony of love, we'll stand."
A fortress built on trust and care,
A bond unbreakable, beyond compare.

VII. (Strings swell, a crescendo of hope and resilience)
The strings arise, a vibrant surge,
A tapestry of dreams emerge,
"No matter what, we'll find our way,"
"Together we'll greet a brighter day."
A symphony of hope takes flight,
A future painted, bold and bright.

VIII. (All instruments together, a joyous finale)
The music swells, a joyful sound,
A harmony of love profound,
Two souls entwined, forever near,
Conquering doubts, banishing fear.
A symphony of life's sweet song,
Together we'll always belong.

(Outro - Strings fade softly, leaving a sense of peace and optimism)

Your laughter, a trill of high notes,
cascading like arpeggios across the ivory keys
of my heart.  Each touch, a melody I crave,
a vibrant chord resonating deep within.

Your eyes, the deep bass notes, holding the weight
of unspoken stories, of passions yet to unfold.
I see the rhythm of your soul in their depths,
a slow, deliberate tempo that draws me in.

Your voice, a mezzo-soprano's caress,
weaving tales of joy and sorrow,
a narrative played out on the strings of my being.
Each word, a carefully placed note, building the symphony
of our intertwined lives.

Like the sustain pedal, your presence lingers,
a constant hum beneath the surface,
coloring every phrase, enriching every passage.
Without it, the music feels incomplete, hollow.

There are moments of dissonance, sharp and jarring,
like a wrong note struck in the heat of the moment.
But even these discordant chords contribute
to the complex harmony of our love.

We are a duet, sometimes playing in unison,
our hands moving together in perfect synchronicity.
Other times, we engage in a playful counterpoint,
each voice distinct, yet contributing to the overall composition.

There are movements of loss, a somber adagio,
where the melody falters, and the silence stretches,
heavy and suffocating.  The music fades to a whisper,
a lament for what was, and what might have been.

But then, a crescendo of hope, a triumphant allegro,
rising from the ashes of despair.
Redemption echoes in the vibrant chords,
a promise of renewal, a testament to the enduring power of love.

And as the final notes fade into a peaceful diminuendo,
I realize that our love is a sonata,
a masterpiece composed of passion, vulnerability,
and the unwavering belief in the transformative power of connection.

I don’t know how many knocks
I’ve had upon my door and
opened it to the sight of
some poor, ill-fated,
hapless crumb ***
standing there
with another
sob story:

“I got kicked out of my house
and I don’t know why.”

it was always the same thing
and yes, they put on quite
a show during their
initial screening
with their
spongy eyes
like ****** cakes
and as vulnerable as a
clay pigeon shot into space.

I’d buy into their dinosaur tears
and they knew I’d take them in
because I was an enabler.
I could never say no.

and next thing you know there was
bodies on the couch,
bodies in the bathtub,
bodies in the basement,
all drunk, drug-addled
and without women.

each time a new one entered the house
it always ran in the same sequence:
first, everything would
start off good, fun even;
they’d buy the beer,
I’d provide the music,
the music brought conversation,
the conversation brought laughter,
the laughter brought moments of joy
and the beer, the music, the conversation,
the laughter is what kept those nights alive.

many lively nights had passed.
gradually, they grew more
comfortable with settling in.
subtly, their courage piqued enough
to overstep some boundaries but not
enough to notice it or brush it off.

they were testing me.

seeing what they could get away with.

I was a pushover,
allowing myself
to get steamrolled
by their daringness.

then I noticed that none of them secured employment.
they’d pour their excuses all over me as to why
they couldn’t work or even pay me rent.

I imagined some interviewer
flipping through pages of their resumes
extending out a long rap sheet of various jobs
knowing they wouldn’t last long.

their twenty-four hour presence
thickened the tension in the house;
up and down the stairs
in and out of the front door
beer run after beer run
& continuous song writing.

I’d come home after the 12 hour shift
to beer cans preoccupying every
countertop and table in the place.

and just like that, I became both the
innkeeper and the house maid.

their incompetent and noise-laden identities
had troubled and angered my counterpart.
it wasn’t her fault though.
she had to put up with
my poor decision making:
I ran our home like a flophouse,
like a homeless shelter, like a charity ward,
like an adult foster care center.
I was inexcusably bad at playing landlord
and at subletting my house.

too much resentment had burst.
she’d curse me. we’d get into it.
the arguing would get out of hand.
then one of them would boldly step up
and say something robust and tumultuous,
interrupting our personal affairs,
as if it was their business,
as if they were now
running the show.

I’d let my emotions get the best of me and snap back at them.
boy, oh boy, did they have an answer for everything.
confrontations were never my strong suit and
winning an argue with these dolts seemed virtually impossible.
I had trouble saying what I really meant and what I really felt.
things never got resolved.

suddenly, it was starting to become abundantly clear;
as to why they couldn’t hold down a job,
as to why no one else would house them.

we’d return to our corners,
let some time blow over and
then reconvene at some later point.

burying the hatchet over a few suds,
only this time I was buying the beer
and they were taking over the music
and the conversations were awkward and dull.

the nights were quickly dying into a stale dankness
our eyes met in silence, there was no more laughter,
the room became uncomfortable, aloof, standoffish
no matter how much the beer and the music worked its charm.

the quality of our lives had gyrated into pure toxic sludge
we were pushed and pushed and pushed beyond our limits.
I was brought out of character; a reasonable man,
driven to do unreasonable things, I too, like so many
before me, had to kick them out of my house and they
hadn’t a clue as to why. they’d put up their fight,
they’d storm out with a dramatic exit and act
like I was losing something valuable.

oh yes, there was a time, when I believed it would be easier
to live in sheer misery over hurting someone else’s feelings.

I was too busy pulling knives out of everyone else’s back
that I didn’t realize how many were stuck in my own

but after many years of waiting it out,
I finally got the message
and had to pin
eviction notices
on the doors
of my beliefs
and on the doors
of the strays,
the rejected
and the runts
of the liter.

It's been a while.
The birds keep chirping in the distance,
their melody steady, familiar.
I glance to the side, observing it all.
Was it the atmosphere that had changed,
or was it my heart whispering a thought?

I look down,
lost in reflection,
turning it over and over in my mind.
Now it feels like a cycle—
too many thoughts,
too many wanderings,
looping endlessly.