Out of randomly seeking
I’ve seen this possible opportunity
I hope I’ll be qualified enough
To proved my self-worth
Even more than what others may thought of me
Just give me a chance
I won’t mess up this time
This could be it
No to jinx please
I’m trembling upon typing
No to more errors please
Just a single chance is what I plead
Lead my way to You.

" 10 w 3 mw"

how to be compassionate    start
out small    and work up

we shape our sorrow
according to what we read
in the newspapers
saying what we think
thinking what we mean
lazy in the sunset
tired in the dark
flying in the streets
falling in the sky
upside down
dawn of light
caresses the face
it drew on the pallets
of the painters it threw
out into the streets
because now we want something else
something they can't give us
for nothing is the same
as it used to be
right or wrong
we don't know anymore
we can't
so stop the world
stop the planet spinning
let us go back
back to the beginning
when it all started
and it may start again
or it may not
who knows

No amount of trying can make this place a home.
An apartment with blank walls, bare halls.
Alabaster from top to bottom,
furnished with desks and dressers
to match the screen of the dead television.
A bed,
gray as a suffering sky
about to burst at the seams
crying out “Mother,
where have you gone?
Why are you not here with me?”
Only to hear no response, and,
quieted for the time,
returns to the color that everyone
who’s never seen an ocean
imagines them to be.

Oh, grant me a new song.
A start again afresh with no regrets song.
One with a bridge to a new accord,
a song with which I can get on board.
Something that strikes a stronger chord
with those who like me
long to be
fully
factory
restored.

A song with a fresher melody
(and I definitely need a different harmony),
something that's part of a wider symphony
maybe with an occasional solo part 
for me.

A song that I get to sing with gusto,
maybe to a slightly quicker tempo,
a step up from my imposed Adagio,
closer to a brisker Allegretto.

Oh Lord,
you see me.
You see that I long to sing.
Can you please
wipe me clean
and write a new song with me.

Though it was not a time of religious musing,
it was an escape from the spirit bruising
of the telescreens and jingles,
the buzz of invisible,
the noise of the motorways.

We could natter in the pub,
on a Pilgrimage, of sorts;
to sort, to find a beginning.
Or at least to open a book up
somewhere near the start.