the first time we danced,

we both were romanced.

oh, the future we could have.

And when I told you,

“Darling, I love you”

That’s the first time it went bad.

It was too much, too soon.

I claim insanity under the moon.

How I long for just another chance.

But you’re once, twice, three times a lady and I’m sorry it ended that way.

The next time we met,

I was filled with regret,

But I held back words with a smile.

At lunch we talked,

And after, we walked.

That’s when I reached out for your hand.

You wanted to run,

I was crazed by the sun,

How I long for just another chance.

But you’re once, twice, three times a lady and I’m sorry it ended that way.

Years later it came,

we huddled in the rain.

My, how beautiful you were.

Puddles of love

Poured down around us,

And I knew just what to say.

You’re in my heart and my head,

But I wrote this song instead,

oh, how I’d love to pursue.

Your life is fine

but as for mine,

I’ll get by without if you choose.

You’re once, twice, three times a lady, and I’m sorry it ended this way.

Once, twice, three times a lady, and I’m yours when you want it that way.

I’m not looking for definition.

I’m just longing for recognition

That you define our position

In our relationship expedition.

But in addition,

Don’t be victim of attrition.

Use your heart and tool of erudition.

And do this in your own volition.

I can’t really speak for tradition

And I do not call myself a statistician,

But, given our story without omission

It would take no mathematician

To see our repeated emotional transmission

I care for you under any condition

And I try to write in such exhibition

But words can’t spell out my emotional emission

Because there’s no such thing as emotional definition

So, identify your inhibitions

And label any opposition

If they outweigh benefits of a relationship transition

Let’s begin remission

And agree on recission

So take my admonition

And if I satisfy that condition

Let us have the definition

And love another with ambition

Because I have no premonition

And I think we’d be a fine composition

And I’ll maintain a perfect disposition

Despite coalition or abolition.

I’m a mile away from your bedroom door

I wanted to get close, but I can’t go anymore

There’s caution tape around the 1 mile radius

of the crash site that claimed the life of one of us

How vividly I can remember the events of that day

And I thought that we both escaped unscathed

But the next morning the newspapers read

“Fatal accident leaves 1 man dead.”

Maybe if I duck under the tape

And slowly get closer to where I met fate

I’d still find my heart slowly beating and clinging to life

And I could call the paramedics, and give it CPR

Or drive it to the hospital myself if it wasn’t too far

Where they would get the crash cart, screaming “we’ve still got a chance”

One more chance to revive the romance

Between a guy who loved a girl more than he should have

Between a girl and a guy who did less than he could have

To save himself from dying in a unforeseen accident

But he didn’t, and the doctors will say they can’t

Because taking the heart away from where it was

Closer to your heart, and your rushing blood

Was what was keeping it alive, and I never knew

Your heart was keeping mine alive too.

So I’ll stay here, pumping gas in my car

My body facing your direction from afar

And I’m trying to look through all of these houses and trees

Virtually flying, imagining everything in transparency

Until I reach your bedroom, where I’ll stop and knock

And maybe you’ll answer and maybe you’ll not

Maybe your music is too loud, and you’d never hear

The sound of my heart beating, no matter how near.

I snap back to my car as the handle finishes pumping

Deep breath in, and I get a small hint of something

Besides the gasoline, there’s something else in the air

Something that reminds me of the smell of your hair

Back in my car, back on the highway I drive

Never knowing if I’m dead, or just barely alive

And as I pass the road to your place

I’m the only one turning my face

Away from the site of that terrible crash

Where wreckage is being hauled away as trash

The wreckage of what I was trying to build

But I never got to finish before I was killed.

And maybe next time I come down this way

A new structure will stand in its place

Built by a man, whose blue prints you approved

Or maybe, once all the wreckage is removed

A memorial will be built in remembrance of me

And when it’s done, the newspapers will read

“Woman builds memorial for lover lost in fatal accident.”

I’m hugging a pillow
But I wish I had my arms around you
The road winds around a mountain
And I enjoy the never-ending view
The farthest peak seems so far
But you’re beyond them still
And if I could drive that distance, I would
But a car will never get me there

I’m listening to the mix tape I made
Between the road, tires, and my mind, a serenade
The symphony of rubber meets asphalt
The harmony of driving without halt
They all intertwine to form a musical epic
And I’m living in that moment
Because it’s the only one there will ever be.
And it’s along the way to destiny.

The wheel and my stomach turn
Along these back roads and high hopes
The tachometer becomes my time piece
And it ticks away as I dream
With both hands on the wheel, I’m not moving
But everything around me is whirling by
And I see the exit out of the corner of my eye

Big green signs dot my highway
And display names of places that I’ve never been
To meet names and faces that I’ve never seen
And I’d do that, on my stop for dinner
But I’d only stay for a little while
Wanting to get back on the road; on my way
Seatbelt fastened and ready to drive
Moving like the dead, but feeling so alive.

A soldier marches into war for someone’s future,
But he has no guarantee of his own.
A soldier will give up his own life and chance to live it,
To save everyone he loves back home.
The collective sacrifice of these mostly youthful lives,
Makes you wonder how much progress we make when one dies.
To me, that’s the travesty of war.
They’re too young to know what they’re dying for.
Uncle Sam’s fight, or big brother’s battle.
All before they get to see their own kids shake a rattle.
It would seem that the young have a higher exchange rate
than cannon fodder to slow the progression of imminent fate.
There will be less resistance from a boy without dreams,
Than a grown man who has grown to learn what it means
To kill someone, to take from another,
To feel the effects of someone losing their mother.
To see the child play, but minutes later, turn to a corpse.
To know that these are the fruits of fighting wars.
I do not think that war spelled backwards breeds a coincidence;
I believe “raw” to be an extremely appropriate adjective for these incidents.
That’s the only way to truly understand what we do
And how we should be responsible for our actions too.
Flee from the group perspective and think of the implications
We impose on those in different nations
with different lives, jobs, and skin.
With different families and friends, and religion.
Some defend their homes by giving large weapons to their sons.
We take children from their homes and give them the guns.
We train them to think it’s noble, it’s their duty, it’s just.
But these are the words of man, not in God we trust.
If I am to die, it is by God’s design.
For he has given me all that I call mine.

The naked trees wave white plastic bags
Like wounded soldiers waving surrender flags

Sirens scream from the project heights
Homeless were once suburbanites

Multiple stab wound lies on the street
While the starving steal the shoes from his feet

Where the in want out, and the out want in
Where lives end, and business negotiations begin

Where the deals are smooth and a bag costs one fifty
This is my home, this is the city.

Travels take me far from here.
But for some reason, my mind stays home.
not that it’s lost or forgotten,
It just decides not to come.

dry eyes
dry hands
white skies
white lands
winter weathers
falling like feathers
So familiar, nay, known
So family, called home.

A cited source
Excited more.
A sight of sores:
A site of moor.

You were odd, and I was awed
by the scene that I’ve seen
one thousand times in TIME’s
big story I read in big bold red
capital letters, capitol letters
to the Prince of Persia, prints of
presents to be bestowed in his presence
by a maid who made the room
appear like a pier you’d see by the sea
blue sky ceiling blew white wall clouds
and I could see with one eye in the telescope
a ship, too far from here to hear
the rock I threw breaking through the glass
breaking the peace with every piece shattering and falling
on your clean floor and you’re looking at me
with a look no one would know just how to respond