For those that fight

Blue shirt, short skirt, and high heels -
All things time bequeathes, time steals.
The mantle, adorned with memories,
Is now a gathering of hopes, decrees.
Please don't let them suffer, please adore
Them, Lord, as we watch through the trees.
Watch for some sign, some calm in the storm,
And measure the pace of change with sighs.

And grow their love, bounty, and stores;
Wait not any longer, give it all You've got.
I stand outside while family and friends adorn
Them with their prayers and will to fight.
But, let not this Sunday pass without a sign
From You, selfless and pure, so that their highs
Become a daily ascent, true and benign.

Portraits left behind (the table in the foyer)

The pale manner in which you move
Tempts me to sing along and make orbit.
It's not as if I have a choice,
It's not as if you care.

The simple way in which you sore
Above the ground and give nothing
Leaves me wanting more.
It leaves me wanting more.

And I proudly wear your tears
On a chain around my neck.
Memory of the night you left me
Keeps me cozy in my fears.

The rude manner in which you left
Creeps me out, makes me want your
Scent in the room, sense before the storm.
I'm not overanxious, just pressured.

Meandering, I pray that the snow outside
And the reign on the table in the foyer
Finally cover my sadness, dull the borders.
I'm not a simple man, you see, not simple at all.

Alas, it's all a game that my brother and I play,
Mixing words with drinks, saving others,
Creating genesis from swagger and sway.
It's not as if you care or bother.

This is the time to stop,
The moment to let go.
These are the days of the portraits
That were left behind.

Tried and true staples

The beveled tips drive deep into my skin.
The show must go on said the engineer to the stage hand.
My sense of worth faded into my side.
The light tilted slightly and the staged faded out of view.

This is not the way it started.
This is not the way it shall end.
I will not give you the right to form judgement from reason.
I will not let you have that audience.
I will not sing those words.

The beveled tips dig deep into my whims.
A Spring rose from the ashes of the playwright's submission.
I carved my sense of right and wrong into your skin.
The morning jilted me of the night and the stage burned to the ground.

This is not the story of any one person.
This is not the song of our ancestors.
This leaves me bleeding in my cave
And this takes from me your smile, your person.
I will let go now, I will let go.
I will let go now, I will let go.
I will.

A Sunday afternoon waltz

There, somewhere is the divine in the shallows of the mill.
There, somewhere is the resonance in the song of the mill.
I stand and shoulder.
Oh, I stand and shout.
And bend the fork in the road so that only I can see.
And tend the storm in my heart so only I can dream.

There, somewhere are the callous in the mountains and the hills.
There, somewhere are the jealous in the drumbeats and fills.
I stand and shoulder.
Oh, I watch the crowd.
And send the lonely back on their way so only I am me.
And send the holy back on their way so only I am me.

Here, somewhere is the divine in the gallows of my soul.
Here, somewhere is the majesty in the truths of our time.
We stand as we should,
Oh, we stand and shout.
And lift the 'morrow with the weight of tears yet to come.
And blend the hate with sorrow of fears to come, fears to come.

Here, somewhere is the last of the temptations, more or less faith.
Here, somewhere, deep inside, is the divine in my gait.
Oh, I stand and shoulder.
Oh, I stand and shout.
Oh, I dream.
Oh, I scream.
And sleep in the moments leading up to the end of time.
And sleep in the consciousness ending in time, three quarter time.

Rocks

We blast the rock and settle scores,
Flirt with mania and tender mores.
We pass the buck and open doors,
Pass on black and white for dull grays.

Seems simple and quaint, a bald season,
Here in the valley of stone and a river.
But it amounts to sublime treason
And cradles the beast in the mirror.

I never said the rock would build a palace,
Bring peace, or kill hegemony.
I never promised a time of healing,
A place of shelter, or a moment of silence.

We blast the rock and settle scores.

A jury of one leaves no trail

Pain and pleasure, all the same to me
A romantic novel gone awry
In angry overtones and symbols
On ochre chaise lounge chairs

The debt we owe grows and grows
Each one of us the banker
Each of us the customer
Waiting on life in pairs

Thrill and killing, all the same to me
A pantry full of woes and tales
Both soft and well-blown gales
Lift us up to heaven's stairs

Work, work hard boys and girls
This is the way of the world below
This is the time we grow bold
Acting stages, acting ensnares

Pain and pleasure, the cut of the blade
A train ride south to everywhere
In sultry, panicked tracks
I leave with little, if any, care

Yet another day (#11)

Blend the flowers into the sky
Shelter the sun from the fray
Jump the gun but never try
This is yet another day

Burn the hours into my skin
Blunder the times to come
Jilt your god but never sin
This is yet another day

Porous, we filter out the marrow
Glorious, we shift in the narrow
Space between good and great
And hope, pray
For yet another day

Turn the towers into sand
Burden the soul and the dam
Leave my love but never land
This is yet another day

Dim the lyrics into words
Pander my song for gold
Make soldiers into herds
This is yet another day

Porous, we filter out the marrow
Glorious, we shift in the narrow
Space between good and great
And hope, pray
For yet another day

Delighted you could make it tonight
Demanding more or less the same
Are these the crazy times that spin us around
Or are we more or less the same?
As we fight the good fight
On yet another day

Porous, we filter out the marrow
Glorious, we shift in the narrow
Space between good and great
And hope, pray
For yet another day

Blend the flowers into the sky
Shelter the sun from the fray
Jump the gun but never try
This is yet another day

Yet another fateful day
Yet another day
Yeah

Thanks, BL.