It’s the seventeenth of July
Another year passed by
As I am writing this today
I gaze up with my eye
there i see a beautiful sight
starlight gleaming, clouds flying high
among them shines my moon in the sky
it’s then when I drown in a dream
suddenly, by the breeze’s lullaby
I startle when I see the moon up high
startled for the moon were you my Gul
among all the stars you folded around
you shone the brightest, most beautiful
It’s the seventeenth of July
This year that passed by
is the best i’ve ever lived by
and the dream I saw in the reality of stars
is the life I’m living amidst all them dreams
This year that passed, it felt like a dream
for never did i ever imagine of finding my love
but now i have you and I’ll do better than try
to protect you always, Yes I’ll do it or die
You are my Gul, my most beautiful
with you in my life, my garden is full
your beauty my Fatima Gul is irrefutable
i’ve fallen for you for countless times
that what cannot be described in lines
since my love, you stepped into my life
I’m captured, captivated, mesmerized alive
I want you like the soil needs the rain
I want you like the stars want to shine
I want you like the rain wants to pour
I want you like the sun wants to warm
I want you to the millionth degree of infinity
I want you Always and forever
for we’re destined together
I’m yours alone with all that I am
with all the love instilled in me
I’m yours my love till eternity
you are my home and in you i reside
I entrust myself to you, in you in confide
My love I’m blessed by your existence
for every moment we spent together
for all the beautiful moments to live ahead
for all the memories we have and we’ll make
I’m happiest that I have you my love
I love you I love you I love you my Fatima Gul
I wish i could embrace you in my arms
I wish I could be with you today
Happiest birthday to you the love of my life
I love you till the millionth degree of eternity 💞

17th of July 2022

Indulging in the pleasures of Luna,
Nocturnal eyes see beyond
Moonlight

The night is an enticing incentive
Luring us to dare be a part
Of a velvet heart that sings
The lullaby

"That which we create in the
Midst of others' dream is pure,
And most of all, true"

At the end of each note
Is a prelude to another
Evoking creativity that stems
And can only be nurtured
In the night
Yet flourishes in daylight

At the night's darkest hue
Patching syllable after syllable
Evoking stories that have
Begun to be to told

Indulging in the pleasures of Luna,
Nocturnal eyes see beyond moonlight

She sits alone, mostly. Rolling within the rank sweat and smog filled room she calls her "home"

  Black and white, black on black, white on white. Crisp and clean, yet muddied with her emotional tolls

Gangly legs lay crissed and crossed into the apple sauce, folding in and bent at the knees

  Her Raven hair is swept across the floor like a ***** mop left out to dry in the rotten sunshine (or so she calls it)

Portraying the swayed emotions that she feels like a long black river of gnat buzzing irritation

  "Stupid." she whispers in a mocking tone, head cocked to the side with a face filled with blankness

       "Stupid Pretenders," she mutters in a voice as soft as the whispering ghosts, lost within the sounds of the dead

Pretenders. That is what she calls them as they flit too and fro, ignorance and bliss surrounding the obvious facts

  Floating in and out of her mind, she has memorized every single one of their faces, down to the last detail;

Every last acne scarred face that tormented her while she was a "just a child", they billow down into her mind

  The blank and fish glossed eyes never truly seeing, staring blankly ahead of them while they passed by, oblivious

Like running brooks, and rays of light they ebb and intertwine into who she is (or who she thought she once was)

  She enjoys pretending that she knows their stories, has lived their lives, all while she is glaring madly into lost space

Having been swept astray, she descends deeper between lulling calls of the dead, mourning in sweet song for her fruitless life

  They plead with her to sacrifice her existence, escorting peace into her tattered soul, to terminate her withdrawn pain

Lending her the hand of the Black Rider who comes at dusk, singing a haunting lullaby to drag her down into the dawn

I see the tears falling down your face,
The feathers of your smile rustling like leaves,
Your lips tremble like suffocating lace,
I want to hold you till morning eve

Your death is coming,
I watch it from the lighthouse.
Time is falling like blood down your scalp,
Streaming till your heart stops, a crimson spouse.

you may watch me crest the icy black
surface of your minds wide ocean
with moonlight catching brilliant spray
and casting shadows of doubt
follow me down
     and listen to me
   singing you to sleep
a pacifist lullaby
of malcontent
and lonliness

your breath is as level as the choppy seas
and your thoughts will follow wherever I please

I know that you have reservations
keeping your heart bound
safely to the shore,
your hopes lapping loosely around your feet
receding,
returning,
remitting,
refreshing,
and all the while you know
that the whitecaps
     are the faces of regret
     are the voices of dissent
     are forces to be reckoned
and that stormy seas are only a problem
if you're trying to stay afloat

each night as you dream, your thoughts set sail
and I will be your great white whale

I dreamed that things were not as they seem
That knives shone and glass did indeed gleam

I dreamed of a world of fairy tales,
Of magic, sparkle, and singing whales

I dreamed you were standing by the shore, so was I,
So were peach castles and the sound of a lullaby

I dreamed that you turned to me to say...
whisper in my ear, love on your fa--*

A sound jolts me awake, you hold a blade to my throat
And you have on your favorite mask and that coat

There is no one to hear my screams.
Next time I won't dream.
Things are not at all as they seem.

A sleepy lullaby to warm the soul. The sound of rain, and thunder in the distance, with echoes of the nearby church bell. The resonance of your world in a music box. "Keep it handy", he tells me, "When you need the world's help, wind up that little wonder like a heartbeat, and you'll feel like you're in a dream."

On an evening of bleak winter chill
A lone knight rode to Bartonleigh Hill

Stationed there was his maiden cute
Plucking the strings of an out of tune lute

As she plucked the rats did cry
Never had they heard such a rumpus lullaby

Upon her door a knocker knocked
It was the lone knight minus his left sock

Oh! she said your foot looks blue
Come warm it in the embers shoe

He did as she requested him to do
Whereupon a marriage proposal ensued

now if an apache shaman became a president of the "free world" i'd be glad, over the moon sort of speak, but a former kenyan export of a cotton picker? not so much, puppet for the pseudo-europeans to my sour distaste. if a native indian made it to the throne i would have applauded: someone who's native of this land, actually in charge of it... you don't say... but a former slave ethnicity? that just breaks the jaw chandelier: i'll be impressed when i die and see the big picture. it's a bit like in europe, the modern renaissance happened in england in the 1960s... then disappeared to birmingham... the other venus of the north (2nd only to st. petersburg)... and then the resurrection of rome became the job of eastern europe "barbarians / invader," who became the cotton pickers of europe, told they were not europeans but closely related to neanderthals... while chopin boomed replicas in japan... i feel discouraged from being european altogether... i think i'll translate myself as japanese... and shake off these western rats... i'll don a beard and a samurai haircut... yeah, i'll do that, they might get the idea that's behind the rolling stones of numbering 4, ageing to be about
2 galapagos turtles in terms of accumulated age... oh you
won that capitalistic child-plot to compete, i assure you.*

all these dating websites are in the shallow pool
of spectacles, a man logs into a dating website and
looks for what's clearly a cobra, or the end of him,
or a femme fatale... she needs to be attractive,
intelligent and funny... i thought men were supposed to
be that... look what copernican feminism did,
it turned inside-out rather than upside-down...
when i look at women i look for three traits akin...
she needs to be patient...
she needs to be resilient...
she needs to be understanding...

(good looks can wait for the middle-aged lynx,
she got the hang of body after puberty
and became arrogant with it - own one own all
motto - babe your time will come to avoid
plastic surgery;
i'm *******, of course i am,
but i rather show it than suffer in silence
and become ******* in thinking it out;
you understand one, you understand all,
not really, put a hammer in a set of a hundred
*****-drivers and you get the odd one out,
at least picture it, opaque if it makes sense better;
p.s. don't mention the power of older men,
socrates had to become poor to speak wisely,
he got away with it... poor men like jesus
have to suffer in silence because
poor youth, or youth without ambition
is not really a rallying crowd motif)...

there was something else - you immediately stare
a cold blank for a slate that's required a blink
for a square of cement...
sometimes this homosexual dynamics turns
originally thought heterosexual males to try the back door,
the bony ****** of five counts is no longer
adequate... neither is the puppet in the hand...
it requires the stage... a completion of the play
with female genitalia, the empty void...
oh don't worry... i'm sure disney will find your
perfect match in the realm of tech-colour psychoanalysis
perfection... in order to control your "father,"
just so you can salt & pepper a son into a lullaby...
but try a daughter... ooh... pooh tosh too?
how sorry i am... i bet it wasn't as infectious thinking
that one through... malignant cancerous pore of
relating something to something...
but as they say in science in a mongrel relation
of trans-breed mixology of a cosmopolitan...
among atoms we are *****,
among stars we are little men...
remember the microscope and the telescope
are a staff... there are two arguments either side
of the relation of conversing about them...
we can relate to atoms as *****,
we can relate to stars as satellites or telescopes...
in a polite society dialectics is excused...
only because we measure distances of known bodies
to foreign bodies... but this also provides a slack
on what is deemed offensive in casual conversation
because offensiveness is a forced mono-dialectic
where no counter opinion exists due to a third party:
democracy of western society is rife with this.

Grow my tiny flower
Reach up to the sky
You are indeed more magical
Than the roving butterfly

I see you every morning
At night before you rest
I feel so glad to know you
My heart is warmly blessed

Grow my tiny flower
Reach up to the sky
You are indeed more magical
Than the roving butterfly

Once I caught a falling star
It fell down from on high
It sparkles and it shimmers still
So pretty to the eye

Grow my tiny flower
Reach up to the sky
You are indeed more magical
Than the roving butterfly

Good people, they are gentle
They love their mother earth
They bless each tiny creature
And understand their worth

Grow my tiny flower
Reach up to the sky
You are indeed more magical
Than the roving butterfly

I've been driving for three hours now
I've been driving for three minutes
I would say I've been driving for three seconds
But I won't, only because I'm past the driveway
But I might as well have been driving for three seconds
and I should probably drive for three more days
Because it won't make a difference
It won't change the pace
of my day-to-day life.

She always told me not to drink and drive
He always told me too
I'm pretty sure they always say the same thing
But that was bad advice when it comes to this thing
This thing I'm going through

They should have told me not to think and drive
because they never told me not to
Now I'm thinking all the time
And drinking and driving is a crime
and the men with disco cars hunt for the criminals
who drink and drive
but I still manage to do the time
for what is not a crime.
the fact that I think and drive.

I only do this unhealthy thing
because you force me to
You crawl into my ears and make a bed on brain
and cover up my focus with your hands
It's like a game of peek-a-boo in frames
I sometimes take a peek long enough
to see a traffic sign
But I would be lying if I said
I remember staying in the lines.

I'll let you continue sleeping there
tuck yourself into my mind
I'll wish you goodnight and sing you a lullaby
But only if you let me drive
Only if you stop intoxicating me
with thoughts of you
and you
and you
and you
and you and I

Thank you for listening
You are my sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

Vacuous.
A sliver of moon,
Slight but sharp;
A rapier forged in the fire of sin.
Feigned delicacy.
Her minimalism, a pretense;
Beneath it lies her ****** truth.
She dances to the tune
Of the manifold wails of the wicked.
She sings a soft siren lullaby,
Luring the hearts of the weak astray.
Down the path of her legs
To the trap of her thighs,
He follows her beckoning croon,
A wanton plea from her soulless eyes.
I watched as she wove
Her beautiful tapestry
With hideous threads,
Colored red with falsehoods.
And when it was finished,
She draped it over his eyes,
And I knew I had lost him for good.
For temptation had blinded him,
And ensnared his weak heart,
And into the darkness she took him.

Hush hush
sleep my little boy
Hush hush
you are my great joy
Hush hush
I guard all your dreams

Hush hush
smile my little boy
Hush hush
I bring you a toy
Hush hush
I guard all your dreams

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
A Dutch Lullaby.


WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
       Said Wynken,
       Blynken,
       and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in the beautiful sea--
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,--
Never afeared are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:--
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

Eugene Field

and in our childhood we beheld the beauty of
theocracy - all of us - bedazzled by it,
enthralled by it, we reached the pinnacle
there and then - in our childhood we beheld
the beauty of theocracy - each and every one of
us cherubs worthy a plucking for the heavenly
choir - and like Adam and knowing through
to Eve and un-knowing that a man might
riddle trousers with a kilt - just like that,
it's not a belief in god that's required - far from it -
in childhood we sensed theocracy - the grand
hall oratory place of inconvenience - a talk to the hand
moment; thank yous and not yous -
we were too young to formulate a being as grand
as god - too young - even though it was implanted
in us by others that came prior - we're maturer now,
it's not the idea of god - we were young and
the prospect always hanged in the air of inhibition -
we weren't entirely eager to exhibit prayer and petulance
equally - in childhood as in nostalgia (for the two
are equal in meaning - a rarity to remember outside
childhood, romanticism and whatnot) - in childhood
as in nostalgia it's not god we're searching for,
it's more or less: theocracy - we're nostalgic about
a system of politics that overshadows what came with
the fall / maturity of man - man answered democracy!
and so it was - our version of politics always sends
a shiver down my spine - belief in the midgets of
the caricature of spine-and-wing is not that far apart -
no one in their truest mindset is searching for a god
in order to receive ridicule, not a personal god that
overpowers a man's personality to a U-turn abstract
of what was formerly known of a man -
against the strain of that some champion as necessary:
individuation - the pressure to a coup d'individu -
that sort of god isn't there - the pressure is to find a
the once intrinsic theocracy of childhood -
now that we have the governing body of democracy
hanging over as: demo politics - demonstrative,
demanding, debatable and... debatable -
and to merely think outside democracy is to have a
thought of an autocrat and a mouth of a slave -
otherwise you're just mouthing everyone to a lullaby
of intrinsic Tory toff-ha-ha. we're not missing god,
god is hardly dead, it's that we don't have the same
theocracy that children have governing them -
we have democracy - finding god in singleton-land
of proofs is about as good as finding a teardrop in
a sea - it means abandoning your personality in order
to skip the hardships for the perks - who is anyone
to collect knee-bending at the altar? why wouldn't
an Orthodox attendee of a church in St. Petersburg
let me sit in church while the choir sang?
oh right... the priests here still have their backs to the people
when reciting the testimonies -
and this simply sprung to mind after reading a psychiatrist
or anti- write out his the bird of paradise (1967, r. d. laing),
a psychiatrist opens up and thinks he's writing prosaic
poetry - great in theory - i mean lucid, frank, simplistic,
but the conundrum comes when no theory is
passed down - no hereditary intellectualism - nothing,
starting from scratch - that's the existential brick-wall
of notation focusing on the i the existentialists used -
the unit they thought they could bounce theories against
and get some original echo back... the only originality that came
back was mere criticism - nothing more.
i'm not looking for god - why is anyone looking for him?
everyone in democracy has this sudden urge to
become a cult-leader or despot? it seems so...
i'm looking for theocracy - in the democratic spirit of
transition that's been given to me - so funny...
god is an uncertainty but death is a certainty - strangely-funny
how the two never seem to coincide - unless in the mouth
and eyes of a madman who shoots you at point
blank range and says the words: time to meet you maker;
Jack'oh Wacko.

hush, hush, hush a bye
while we sing a song
don't you weep
no, don't you cry
we'll help you
to be strong

we're the stars
outside your window
rainbow colored on your sill
can't you see the
curtain billow?
hush a bye now
child be still!

the night is
strumming us a tune
in gold across the galaxy
can't you hear
ol' Billy Moon
playin' his guitar for free?

the stars are your
warm blanket, child
keeping you safe
from chilly harm
don't be scared,
we've chased the baddies
you are safe within our arms.

look out there
from your high window
there is a light
that did explode!
it's a star that did go nova
due to system overload!

why did that star
die out there, child?
why did it up and fall so fast?
because it lit up
so brightly for you
and such Stars
weren't meant to last!



SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage

Her bare feet and palms are the shade of half ripe maroon dates.
Her strong silhouette, a gazelle at sunset.
Eyes are dark brown granules of coffee.
The clanks of gold jewellery on her forehead and ankles,
her sweet aroma of roses fused with jasmine saturate air.
Her fiery soul - a wild Arabian horse yet untamed by bedouins.
Her sun kissed skin glimmers under sunlight;
falcons are constrained with the touch of her fingertips.
She stands tall as she carries her pride,
tall as she hums with the gentle birds.

We ancient women, are an unbroken chain of tribal ancestry,
interlinked by blood and soul. Our lineage, a mother's lullaby,
carried by the wind that disperses sand,
wind that shakes  the core of oceans.

I
The snow is blank as
My apathetic manner
A seed thrusts out; new

II
Intense agony
Spreading and twisting in a
Worthless, weeping heart

III
The product amazes
Me; it's absolutely a
Lucid, pure nothing

IV
New Year's - a silent
Lullaby; empty promise
For the hopeful/less

V
Nothing ever came
From nothing; good trees do not
Sprout rotten, ugly fruit

The sun beams down lighting up my face and warming my skin
Coaxing my eyes shut to leave the physical world
Letting the natural world fill my veins
The wild wind refreshes my lungs
Replenishing my whole inner being
My mind goes to a wonderful place to take a break from the ever crazy reality
My body begins to weigh down sinking into earths comforting ground
Natures lullaby soothes me to drift off into unconsciousness

The land of dreams and wonderful things, hopefully
With nature surrounding me and cloaking me in divine bliss
Only allowing the subconscious to bring to life beautiful scenes
Flowered trees, fields of green, skies painted picture perfect blue, the air smells and tastes of honeydew, birds sing along to natures tune, the rivers move to the beat of Mother Nature’s heart

A natural awakening brings back my soul from its deep sleep
Slowly uprooting my body from Mother Natures’ loving grasp
She infused me with her energy to help me through the unnatural world we live in
I can't wait for the sun to coax me again to close my eyes and appreciate her beautiful essence once more

The sky is red
It is time to go to bed
Close your eyes, dream ahead
Hear me sing
Hear my voice

Oh one with purpose
The gods will guide you
To where?
Who knows
The ground will lead you there
The winds will pull you down and drag you into the sea
I once was there

There you will be met with a boy
And he will repeat these words to you
One with purpose
One I believe

A flickering Flame
Dances peacefully
Carving her delicate path
Through the walls of trees.
Scorching the grass
'Til it's black as night.
Destroying all that the Earth lays out before her.
For the mission of Fire
Is but to destroy Earth.
Her dance starts out
A peacefully slow waltz.
Structured, measured, predictable.
The Wind, the orchestra
For her ballet
The gentle voices
Singing and guiding
The rhythmic steps
She dances so expertly.
A crescendo and the tempo increases
The Wind swirling around her now.

Her steps quickening
A moderate tango now.
Underbrush laid bare
Charred, broken, smoldering.
The Earth's children begin
To sense the danger.
More real now with the tango
Than before
Another gust of Wind
The horns fire up
The percussion section
Kicks it into a higher gear
Fire begins to steps faster

Twirling, spinning
A quick, heart-pounding salsa now.
Trees fall before she even
Reaches them
Their great limbs kneeling
Before the power they
All know she possesses
Crackling, roaring, through the lands
She dances
Methodically destroying the Earth
Her nemesis
And then
The orchestra of her brother, the Wind
STOPS

* *

*

*

* *

She pauses to see why
A mighty waterfall
Cascades gracefully
Into a shining, shimmering pool
Hundreds of feet below
Fire's steps slow
To a slow, weaving pattern
A more primal, tribal sway
She dances along the shores
Gazing upon the beauty
Of the ne'er-before-seen wonder
The spray from the gracefully falling water
Begins to gently caress
The Fire's reaching, grasping fingertips.

Fire's heart is cooled, calmed, soothed.
Her sway becomes even slower
As the calm overtakes her.
The orchestra begins again softly,
A gentle piano melody,
Accompanied by a soft harmony
Of violin and harp.
The new song is soft
A gentle lullaby
As Fire forgets her mission,
Enticed and lured to complete
Submission at the Water's edge.
She dances calmly for her Mistress,
Leaving for a moment
Her nemesis
Earth.

The cascading falls
Wind their way through the pool
And continue along their path,
Carving out greater chucks of Earth
Than Fire ever dared imagine
Was possible.

Muddled thought, I tried to mend.
Unanswered questions, I cannot comprehend.
Poor heart was loaded with burdens;
feels like these took my haven.

I wondered the steps I'm still going to take.
Asked myself if this is for my own sake.
Cried out my vivid feeling;
hope that God was listening.

Filthy desire of freedom wanted to burst out,
before this heart's hope burnt out.
Time came when I wanted to disappear;
my soul was swollen with fear.

Days and weeks passed by;
a part of me was waiting for a lullaby.
I was hoping to filled this emptiness,
There might someone who couldn't careless.

I was trying to cope this feeling alone.
Wanted to go back in my comfort zone.
Eventually this tired heart surrendered.
Longed to God for me to be spurred.

One day, as the breeze touched my skin,
looking at the people whom to me were akin.
And as the sun glint onto my body,
I just suddenly perceived the love of the Almighty.

I presumed that this was the changed,
when I finally decided my struggles to be laid.
This was the reason why my soul was awaken.
He heard my bawl; carried all my burdens.

God brought my feet again on the track,
No worries for I know He got my back.
This tired heart finds rest on His arm,
Assuming this cold spirit will finally be given warm.

When you can't go outside in the cold
Cause it hurts your bones;
And you've caused self inflicted mayhem
On every surface of your skin
When the night is your only cherished friend
It comforts your deceiving soul
And sings you a fast tempo lullaby

-Kellie A Scranton

"Whatever happens
It just happens
For a reason"...so they say.
Who are they?
They are words alike those runes
Always belonged to an odyssey
Old, dusted and ruins
As time quickly flies by...
Uncertain truths and misguided lies needled its core,
While each vowel screams for more vanity...forever more...
These paper scrolls will be shortly forgotten in time,
No matter if the reason is fair -
These dogmatic words shout with dispair:
Whatever happens,
It just happens
For a reason...

A candy jar shines in the dance of a silver light
It sprinkled fearless, outside the window...for my own delight.
Oh, Night! You're a mystic fairy, the solace of my pain...
Why should I let you go, when daylight is in vain?
Should I let you pass by
Forever as a remembrance, like a childish lullaby?
You are meant to "just happen"...
Crushing my struggle and my being's denial,
Time has got me savage punishments in its dial,
Despite its flawless eternity.

Where did I go wrong?
I was born with tragic hopes in my blood,
Craving and sining for a drop of the eternal astral flood
Praying for my existance, nightly...
While dreams suddenly crush into the ashtray,
I am still here...wearing sable made of my thoughts, day by day...
I was born
And it just happened
For a reason...

Sleepy sleepy lullaby
Im ready ready, time to die
**** me, **** me
In my sleep
Run your tallons
Real real deep
Take me please
I ask real nice
Please **** me **** me
Gouge my eyes
Choke me, scratch me
Pull my hair
Cut me open, blood everywhere
I’ll ask again
Real real nice
Please **** me
In my sleep tonight

Good night muse
Through open mouth comes
Silent nothing you left behind
Forced syllables bubbling to the surface
Pointless use of precious tick-tocks
And dictionary was left under the rain
Soggy pages melted into a feeling state
Comatose of pretence
Your luggage full of stories and unbeknown to you morals
Secretly precious artefacts
Desposed regrets and cynical apologies
Said as a joke to stretch the time away from
Boredom
I'll keep them under pillow where they belong
Filling my dreams with dread of pointless ending
Keeping me from fading into that good night
(I love you Thomas, you old devil hope you're drunk and loved)

Good night muse
I hope you wake one day with
Sense of purpose
Desire that you're know is real
Shiver of urgency running
Down your nerves
Need desire passion
To uncover the world
At the bottom of your fall
Into the mystery of another

Four frantic  fingers flicker
Over parallel strings
And a classical lullaby
Thrills the ears of passersby;

Chopin du jour
For the masses
Served gratis by a diminutive maestro;

A fleeting fixture for traveling eyes....

And the random audience of curious strangers
Heaves  a collective sigh,
Touched by the uncommon brush of a diminutive maestro...

Plucking parallel strings
From a busy sidewalk in Soho....

~ Pablo (#ABSIS)
1/15/14