I am not The Last Spring Overture
My birth name was Spring, not Greig
And I am not the last of us
Although I soon may sadly be.
I gave my violin away
To someone who abused it
And died with it still in its case
And unavailable to me.
I loaned my autoharp to one
Who never gave it back to me.
My mandolin was somehow stolen
Off my wall during a party.
Years have brought me dolorosa
For the music I’ve not made
On instruments I never learned to play,
The voice that wouldn’t do my will.
My mind can play that Overture
And does it almost once a week
So maybe what I said was wrong
I am The Last Spring Overture
ljm

Sweet Caroline,
You're on my mind.
You're a crazy minx,
But you're pretty fine.

I can't deny,
I miss you close,
So I read your words
To get my dose.

I wish we never met
Even if fate led us there.
I wish we never talked
Even if the words came easy.
I wish we let silence win
Even if the conversation pulled us in.
I wish we never saw the signs
Even if they glowed so bright.
I wish we never felt that spark
Even if it burned so right.

But everything happened
And still, I wish I could turn back time
Even if I would never know you at all.

My ridiculous heart leads me astray
Deep dives, again and again and again
I've found another lover with games to play
I attract sociopaths; narcissistic broken men

I'm quite aware they'll never change
I know they're not my responsibility to fix
This pattern is so ******* strange
Why do I force myself to live in conflict?

There must be something off inside me
Something in my brain must've glitched
I stay imprisoned, though I hold the keys
My reason to madness indicators, switched

I cannot heal their trauma bent hearts
I'm incapable of providing what they need
Broken darkness within isn't a form of art
Foolishness enough to make me bleed

They put on a show so presumptive to start
It's so easy to overlook the tell-tale signs
And my denial skills top the masters charts
Sanity checks out, my common sense resigns

I should know so much better by now
Maybe it's not that I don't realize or know
Perhaps it's something my mind allows
There's a part of me that thrives on ******

Whatever the truth of my why may be
I do believe it's time for this cycle to end
I'm burned out by the utter absurdity
I'm not happy and I'm done playing pretend

Loving him doesn't mean I should stay
Potential doesn't mean he'll choose to grow
Lying to myself with promises of "someday"
No. I've already spent enough years in limbo

It's time to relinquish my attempts to control
Sorrow and hurt, no matter, I need to let go
Here I'm not helping, I'm suffocating my soul
How would it feel to move into Universal flow?

Certainly there's abundant joy to be found
Power in relinquished attempts to gain power
My world doesn't have to be a battleground
I could exist as simply as a delicate wildflower

Though aware, I still have a choice to make
Knowledge and knowing alone won't save me
Not from uncertainty or potential heartbreak
I have to choose to behave, to live differently

I don't honestly know if I'll ever get there
Lacking the courage, I doubt my capabilities
Too comfortable living in my familiar warfare
Predictable chaos, I can live with hostilities

I'm not admitting defeat just yet, however
Too much of me desperately wants change
So much importance within this endeavor
Someday maybe it won't be beyond my range

I'll keep on trudging through every day
Holding on to my hope, my eyes opened wide
Perhaps a door will appear, creating a way
If I trust it to, the Universe will provide

People live 50%
      in the past
     30%  in the present
     20%   in the future-
     is this an accurate measure?

Calico snakes crawl the
garden of our love.
You, in your gingham
dress and hair in braids,
bent over the radishes.

I, unshaven in my *****
Johnny Cash t-shirt.
Earth all over my
face.
I fell into your
firey ring, that's for
**** sure.

As soon as my guard comes
down, you and that drunken
pirate moon, and that mad
smiling snake burn
me every time.

I'm leaving the garden and
heading back to those
wild midnight alleys where I
know what's coming.
Nursery rhymes are just
metered horror stories.
And spring is the biggest
liar of them all.

A palette of paint to paint his face,
Clothes full of colours bright,
A round red nose that bobs like a ball,
He is ready with a smile.

Comic antics that delight folks,
He rides, slides, cartwheels and falls,
Slips on banana peels, juggles fruit,
Tickled faces all.

When night comes, off comes the paint,
The nose, the wig, the clothes bright,
In dwindling darkness he rests himself,
Now his face he hides.

A jester, he jested, he cheered —
A camouflage in art,
But to himself, alone and quiet,
He rests his aching heart.

An act extraordinaire —
Oh how he does beguile,
But to himself, now alone,
Who’ll make the jester smile?