I am a time traveler, I move quietly from today to tomorrow,
I am an ill traveler; I dance with pain and sing with sorrow.
“Who goes there” they call to me, deep in the night,
Not easing my pain, but just causing more fright.
I swing on a star sent by the pill, and swim in goblets of wine
I pray for release, I cling to a dream, one that’s sweet and divine.
I hear the music that all others miss; I taste the river of love
I feel the pounding, down deep in the earth, sent by something above.
As a traveler I go just a day at a time, so much to my dismay,
But if days were words and I was young, I’d still have little to say.
I wait for the spring its effortless growth feeling so warm and green
I lie in a field watching a dream, knowing it’s already been seen.
I drift over clouds, billowed and white, lined with silver they say,
But I fall through the cracks holding my pack onward to a new day.

As a rubber ball
the child’s heart is bounced
from concrete walls
while courtroom antics
are played out for spite by all.
Finger pointing, lying, loud voices
and between times an ice cream cone for a boy.
A boy or perhaps a toy
waits with this one or another, while robes and
books decide on a father or a mother.
Perhaps a Saturday father will be born, for rules
are rules and stated clear, they read that a mother’s
love is best.
Pay no mind to children’s love or reality.
Pacing floors and clouded eyes, stare at yellowed prints
adorning walls of aged wood and words.
Father speaks in turn of days gone by, promises love and speaks
of a son not a boy.
“Times may change” a voice whispers to the trembling man,
“the past may not endure”.
A miracle today they all say, as the majestic rooms hold
mumblings by the score.
Hand in tiny hand they move on out, to streets of hard cement,
where dreams are waiting to be built.
No Saturday father today, perhaps another time.

Silence spread through the small gray room
as the heads all dropped in apparent gloom.
They all stood up as the music played,
and walked to the front where the body laid.
One by one they stared at the face
solemnly still in a reverent grace.
First comes the wife who knew him so well
her mind held the secret she never could tell.
Next came the son the eldest of two,
when the time was right he knew what to do.
Last came the mother who was so far away,
she just couldn’t see why it happened that day.
The man lay smiling, gray and serene,
he seemed to be waiting for what might have been.
His best suit covered the wound in his chest
that had taken him now to his permanent rest.
His oldest had held him while his wife pushed the knife
with one swift movement they snuffed out his life.
Hating this man for the things he had done
ashamed to be known as his wife and his son.
No one else knew what happened that night,
everyone thought he was killed in a fight.
Could the subconscious erase the hard fact
of a mother and son and their murderous act?
The greatest of motives just can’t justify
the death of a father and a hideous lie.
Guilt could be seen on the face of the boy
he didn’t share in her freedom and joy.
It took four days for the boy to repent
and face up to the woman he’d grown to resent.
His hands wet with fear he opened the door,
he pulled the steel trigger and she fell to the floor.
He waited a moment his mind filled with pain,
put the gun to his head and pulled it again.
Two more plots in the cold damp ground
as the fear of truth makes a deafening sound.

The lashes gently flutter, over eyes of crystal blue
I’m waiting so impatiently, to share the world with you.
Your crawl has turned to walking, as winter turns to spring
Every moment the blues eyes stare, there’s something new to bring.
A smile as warm as summer’s sun and a touch as soft as air
Makes a heart in distant rooms, wish that it could share.
I hear your laugh and feel you near, when I dare to dream
Sometimes blue eyed angels, are exactly as they seem.
Your questions go unspoken as does your inner song
But those who know of angels, know this won’t last long.
Your words and songs will soon be heard, by all of us who care
An angels’ voice will carry far and always there to share.
You’ll grow and learn as days go by, giving as you get
My little blue eyed angel, just hasn’t started yet.
Soon your smile will be face to face, warming all you see
I pray my blue eyed angel… that one of them is me.

I remember running to first, faster then a scream
Now that kind of speed is just a foolish dream.
Age is such a vicious foe, slower by the day
My anger yells at speed of light with nothing real to say.
I still dream of hitting first against the burning sun
Each Saturday was just a game, a war that must be won.
The ball was hit just like my soul soaring in the air
Its always true life is foul or sometimes it is fair.
I loved to hear my father’s yell when the play was on my turf
The yells from distant fans of mine screaming for the smurf.
Even munchkins have to age according to the word of  Oz
But baseball dreams have no rules and  it's sons they have no laws.

Standing on the corner, with roses in her hand,
She stared at all the faces, that passed like drifting sand.
No one stopped to break her thought
or carry off a rose,
as the winter wind, brought freezing rain
through her torn and ragged clothes.
Darkness never seemed to come,
as the neon pierced her eyes,
and it hurt to hold the basket
of roses no one buys.

The morning of a special day,
And the whole town gathered there.
In all their Sunday finery,
the best poor folk could wear.
They came from off the hillside
and the main street of the town,
to watch the kind of justice
that would cut this Evil down.
They stood four deep in pouring rain
and waited for the scream
that would end Evil’s bitter life
and haunted every dream.
Somewhere in the angry crowd
a woman cried in vain
so full of love this lady
that she suffered Evil’s pain.
Children laughed and snickered
as Evil walked the ramp
looking cold and hungry
as his clothes were torn and damp.
One on either side of him
to hold him in his place
as the moment feared forever
caused his heart to race.
The crowd was stirring quietly
as he knelt upon the wood,
mumbling prayers to someone
as quickly as he could.
Flashing silver, scarlet blood
The ****** of the day
the crowd was simply overjoyed
as they turned to walk away.