The master of emotion,
The king of the dance,
Hurried fingers add
A note of daring chance.

Molten happiness
Floats in the air
Like a passing good dream;
With never a care.

Now poignant,
Now sad,
How melencholy
How deep and drab.

Silver metal gleams
In the eye of the mind,
Lost an ancient battles
On which the sun shined.

Melodies curl around inside,
Twining round my arms-
This music can protect me
From any kind of harm.

Sharp, shrieking voices
Let out a scream
As they find out the world
Is not what it seems.

A starry night captures
A beautiful song
For a love through the ages,
The ages so long.

The smooth rythms
Of the everlasting trees
Whisper quietly
Throughout the leaves.

Musty notes
In a darkened room,
And sunshine floods
Into the gloom.

Music tells the truth
And the truth never lies,
But pianos are tricky
And their feelings they hide.

Anger forces the
Furious beats
Into the world
And off silent sheets.

Midnight and brightness
Float in the stars,
Connecting all people,
So close and so far.

Pure and simple,
Liquid notes
Fall in arpeggio scales
Through dancing dust motes.

A single tears falls,
Making no sound
As keys pull memories
Up from the ground.

Everything's so simple
When played in black and white;
The piano controls
My darkness and light.

dance steps on the marble floors
still echo off the walls
music that's almost forgotten
whispers through the halls

pillars holding vaulted ceilings
no longer sparkling white
tattered torn and misbegotten
what was once ornate delight

dusty tables are scattered broken
chairs are thrown askew
joyful memories start to fade
as they feel no longer new

a space once crowded warm and bright
has lost its quaintness in the night

now that the parties over
all the people have gone home
shadows fill the empty spaces
where happiness once shone

I love the dreary days
when gray is the color of the sky
and the world seems so melencholy
waiting for mothers earths tears.

They enveolp the world
falling to the music of the trees
and on the breeze hear whispers
of the sunny days ahead.

I stand amid the cluster
of the wind rain and clouds
and i feel the realness of the bare earth
oh, how i love these dreary days.

~

beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
with the help of three midwives their baby was born.
wrapping him gently to shield from morn's frost,
hearing his first breaths while holding him close.
singing a lullaby, they rock him to sleep;
cradled in their arms, they watch him dream.

twenty five winters; good years, though some long,
as a man was being forged in their little boy.
in many ways wise, encourager and friend,
the tenderest heart, persevering to the end.
through illness, through setbacks, he always believed;
and opening their arms they watch him dream.

beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
alone with the angels their son was re-born.
closing his eyes as he lay down to dream,
his last breath watched lovingly, he drifted to sleep.
then carried so gently to a new home above,
to awake in the arms of the many he'd loved.

today by the fire on this mid-winter's morn,
they find themselves still letting go of their son.
surrounded by memories wherever they gaze,
this earth seems clouded, though they see through its haze.
they find themselves longing for their loved one above,
and dreaming of holding this son that they love.

~

post script.

written in January of 2011, two years after his goodbye.  dusted off just a bit this morning with a few of its wrinkles ironed just for posting.  

this time of winter, these cold, blustery days with blue skies overhead, it seems to bring the out melencholy. might be its time to head out to one of his favorite trails not too far from here... maybe we,'ll try the Columbia Gorge's Eagle Creek trail up to Punchbowl Falls... he loved it out there away from the city.

Steve

I dont dance and remember when... Like a country ballad I sat and wrote our future.....
Ash trays and bottle caps are surrounded by crumpled looseleaf  melted bees wax remindds me of the light i put out...
Like the only warmth in my desperate dungeon simplicity now i understand like a Einstein of obvious....
I frame my failures and hang the posts of social media near my melencholy motivations....
Desperate attempts now rely on the decline of my terror strapped sometime to become your worst nightmare...
2 am shifts and puch cards of never there left me tired of successful failure...
Cellular connection and text wars now fill my only connection when im not out of the service area......
Isnt wealth suppose to be your accept of my last mistake? Cold sandwiches Vlts double ryes supplement my misery....
A juggling act of balance now wears out the clown beneath my circus....
As the reality of a sublime future lights the mornings I leave... Sunset just means the day cannot sell my darkness its light...
As I forget how to smile and you remember how to dance....
know that staring at myself in motel mirrors and reflective gazes....
I know that deep inside im the one who needs changes...

Orange and red
Besmirched upon the ground
Oppressed winds howl in the lead hearts of man
No words are spoken
as silence swallows the land
With is haunts and its banshee calls
Shadows grow longer
and their folly is immense
As our night becomes their play ground
And their prescense becomes our fear
When the moon is high and waiting
Silver fingers
out stretched to greet the sleeping heads of man
To fill them with effervescenent dreams
Melencholy minds are set at ease as the fireside blazes
Satin stares and obscure kisses fill the night
As the seemingly never ending night
Chases the day
Secret lovers flourish
As it all just fade away

The point
The driven passion
Is to capture ghost
Ghost that haunt you
And ghost that comfort you
Capture them in music
In poetry
In a drawing, painting
Even the unnamed ones
That you feel but can't label
As a cry out
Into the sea of
That they are not alone
The emberrassing, shameful, dark, personal, and intimate
It all has to be portrayed to the rest
In a way best seen fit by the soul who feels it
So toda la humanidad knows they aren't alone
This is the whole point of us
Not your feeble helping hand in industrial melencholy and monotonous 9-5 schedule of familiar day to day
But scary, new, chaotic, unexpected
Trajic feelings, ghost
Capture them, write them down, push them through strings or your eyes our your vocal chords, brush, pencil, pen........just capture, share
That's the whole point
Love, validate, live