Whilst slipping out of the main street,
I reach for the feel of torn paper.
Fiddling a small ball of blu tac
that is squeezed into a round circle.
Make sure no one sees me.
For I have my way of putting up
a sophisticated form of graffiti;
In one glide of effort,
the black ink that is a poem
contrasts well with the white paper
and now a brick wall.
Let me explain this phenomenon
They seem to strike like a bolt of lightning
They shake the ground and the clap of thunder follows
It's so loud that it reverberates
and sends waves through the air
1204, 1234, 333
WHAT DO THEY MEAN?!
To me, safety. Comfort. Warmth. a "Hello" from someone I can't see
Are they just numbers? Or are they more
To me, a good omen. a Hug from above. a "Keep it up"
But, what if they aren't?
If so, I don't want to know.
I'll keep these numbers to myself,
for if they are merely that...numbers
I don't want to know.
i get confused,
whenever you left a code on your act.
it's like a sign of your complicated mind,
and i haven't learned the language.
you have that barrier to stop me from trying,
it's like there is a quicksand on the space between us.
i never knew how to catch you up,
cause you left me clueless.
there are a part of you that's giving a straight hope
to whom you just connected to,
but the other part is just trying to messed it up.
you got me involved into your game,
you are the hand of your puppets.
A little boy, he sits
Pondering the world
Outside, butt on the sidewalk
Upset, but without frowns.
Parents wandering somewhere in town.
Judging those who come across
When they themselves are truly lost.
They have no right to judge
No one can speak for the world while they still hold a grudge.
He sighs...does no one else understand.
He certainly can't explain using just his hands.
He wants to speak for the world
But is unable to form any words.
You said you would.
We drank a little whiskey and I smiled at your goofy grin. I laughed when you bet me a stop sign that I would get sick on my 21st. Little did you know, I can handle my liquor magnificently. We put some music on and swung-out to that 40s rhythm.
You promised you loved me.
You swore you would never leave.
You said you would always hold my hand.
I turned 21 last week and I sat in my cold apartment, alone. I did not drink, I did not smile, I did not laugh, I did not dance. Instead tears burned through my cheeks like acid rain. Instead my nose leaked into countless tissues. Instead I ignored my world.
The promises are broken.
Swearing is just curse words, now.
My hand is empty.
I turned 21 last week. I did not get sick. Now, all I can think is
Where the hell is my stop sign?
If you see a hawk
on a bough at field's edge
beyond the corner you should have turned
maybe it's a sign to go on.
Such as during an improvisation on
Flamingo or I've Got You Under My Skin
you play in the wrong key or mode completely
maybe it's a sign to go on, in the wrong key.
Or when my sons cry not wanting
to be alone, I'm upstairs writing
or just enjoying trees in every direction
it too may be a sign to go on alone.