Things to do before I die

Posted on by

691307

Things to do before I die: listen to the music and don’t forget to smile,
and when you need to cry,
and when you just want to die,
when your soul is loosing spark and all you hear are nails scratching on the walls,
howl into the darkness, punch them in the face… break the silence, have a taste,
in a million pieces scrambled all apart… break the silence and protest;
and the morning after when they’re at your door, with a hand of steel and the eyes to kill,
run baby run,
and do take the gun,
hop on the saddle and just keep going, motors growling, tyers stretching,
burn the road, break the silence, have a taste of how it feels,
the fresh air, the morning rain and the sunshine that’s about to show,
run, run baby run and grow a heart to call your own….
And just before I’m about to die,
fearless and trustworthy I’ll put my arms into fire and my feel into dust,
with no regret and no illusion,
I’ll pass on my last thought: that I couldn’t have it better,
that life is worth living as mouths worth feeding
that heart is worth having as love worth finding,
and no regrets,
baby no regrets and always keep running…

Flowers pink

Posted on by

@ reeauctiondesigns.com

Hello mother, howdy father, what is going on… who’s indoors,
flowers pink and gray from ’88, will they ever smell the same?
Memories have lost their paint and the thoughts, one by one, begin to faint,
no one knows the steps to take, or the pills that make one’s head recall the heist,
only dreams,only dreams will ever dare,
dreams will call the past anew,
words and whispers, sweaty hands and dirty paws put together from the heart
nights of terror, calls to dawn, smiley faces and then, breaking the law,
the ups were high as the downs were worse,
and I used to pray, oh did I pray for the days that came
and dear God heard them all…
but I wish I didn’t pray the one pray that took it all away…
if only so many lights would burn that I’ll find my way as well,
dreams will always dare,
only dreams, they still remain to show my way…

The Good and The Old

Posted on by
@ Crystal Smith

Pigeon Toed – Girl playing the violin to a bunch of doves flittering around.

Good old music came to town Sunday morning when I’m gone
and the children now, could not hear its sound,
Good old music played to last ’till the late beat of my bass
but the children now, could not feel its rhyme…

Sunday evening I recall all the stories of The Old,
paper hearts I used to love, plastic smiles and rubber holes
and it pains me through my bones
that the calling that I hold stood me up when I got bold,
and it pains me thrugh my soul
that the  fever that I hold caught me up when I got cold…
And I’d wish I’ve colored all with a rainbow of a sort,
clouded thoughts and hardy reins to the last one of my days…

Good old music came to town Sunday morning when I’m gone
Good old music for The Old starring words that went untold…

Frumoasa mea

Posted on by

woman_statue-wallpaper-800x600

Frumoasa mea cu pașii sprinteni aruncați spre soare
unde te îndrepți când tu renaști din Mare?

Cu pieptul gol și inima închegată
ai stat cu fața în culori și fruntea descrețită
piatră celor nesupuși și altar de cutezanță,
iar cu sărutări aprinse peste buzele durate-n gheață
și lungi mătănii înecate la ceasuri de tăgadă
ai rămas iubito-n bolta templelor de altă dată.

Flori sădite în taină
cresc acum la capete de zori netulburate
și în adâncuri ce privesc spre o stea de miază-noapte e roua dinspre vară
și inele de speranță în somnul fără vise
și tânăra fecioară cu stâncile deschise…

Dar n-ai să fii nicicând așa frumoasă precum erai în seara de sub ape
ascunsă în gânduri de departe și în umbrele curate,
necunoscută ce ai răsărit pe-a mea cărare în ziua fără întrebare…

Morning sonata

Posted on by

d3jnxqn-2ad344e2-f697-4315-9902-dda06c8f49b2

I’m writing you a letter under the morning star
an expert chaining of words to unfold pages you wouldn’t dare touch otherwise,
signs and points and funny little curved bars
on the last breath of a tall green murdered sequoia tree,
in my own words as you can see,
“Good fuckin’ morning, little plush sweet baby!”

Before sunrise, time is all that still remains for there’s no ending to its fall
dreams are gone, the clay is cold, pick-pockets won’t find things to mold,
and I am gone, far away, overseas, hunting trolls…

Wake up prisoner of sight,
the day was brought to you by a brother of the cheating sun,
load your guns with courage and take a solid stand
for morning always rolls upon both the faithful and the sin
and one shall rise and one shall part
when fire hits the Queen of Hearts..

Paper planes are telling stories in the dawn of March Hare’s spring,
fierce claw paintings drawn by starlight shiver
they’re like whispers of a spark soon a tribute to the dark,
and I’m writing you a letter starting with the eye
words and thoughts and feelings with commas at the end,
a book with glitter starving hands.

Weather changes

Posted on by
Dying Fairy - Midonala @ DeviantART

Dying Fairy – Midonala @ DeviantART

Music,
if not for the sound that caresses my mind I would be lost for a ghost
and steps I took on the ladder that forms through the roof, would be all wrong,
I open the door to the last lighthouse on the Sailer’s Shore
follow the rope, down the slope, along with Hope and a word she wrote,
eyes shut,
they sing, to the future that I bring,
emotions and stars stuck in a jar, up on a highest shelf, far from all…

She walked no more and the shadows were gone,
standing still I grabbed for the will
and hold on tight to things that she liked, dreams too dear to be shared,
one foot stalking another, her neck is a pillar to weather
and it snows with feathers as the world turns dry,
old books turn to whispers and one spring voices its cry,
music…

Rock-n-roll

Posted on by
Kites in Cloudy Skies: Painting Clouds in Watercolour @Hannah's Art Club

Kites in Cloudy Skies: Painting Clouds in Watercolour

Do you rock or do you rock-n-roll?
big ball of fire can you rock my world?
playing the guitar on acoustic waves,
long forgotten rhymes start to grow and start to fade,
thoughts from the beginning keep emerging in the sun
smiles and whispers in the shadow come into the light,
memories are failing, history is a sight
tell me dear God, did I make it right?

Brown woolen hoodies in the backstage at the scene
they roam around like foreign medicine,
crawling up your chest when it burns from within
they pour honey at a whim,
dreams are lost to the ghosts in the notes
and I borrowed all my hopes,
kiting papers on a string
do I write, do I rock or do I sing?

So, do you rock or do you rock-n-roll?
will you be a black hole to my world?
guide me to a future and hold on to my song
till I go beyond and my fists are strong,
hearts are drawn to life on a gamer’s card
and the bass is loud and the rhythm is sound,
feelings are on sale, so do hail:
God of rock-n-roll, please don’t take my sail!

——————————

Of light and darkness

Posted on by

Sail Away by Liz Jardine

Anxiety builds up in my bones like flesh on a limb,
my gut hurts from feelings I’ve held within
and curious enough I’m no longer seventeen, nor eighteen,
I postpone my life,
I live for the time in between
I have a lover, my parents and the world I’m in
and yet to find a switch to seize a time to breathe, to fill up my lungs with lasting seed,
I am lost in my dream, away from the shore, in a swim to escape boredom…
Things have a way to unfold on their own and nobody knows where they go,
I am stranded on an island with a horn to blow to scare off the night and keep away the crows
and sand grows into people that leave trails to the deep,
I play a record on a silent gramophone, the same old song I also can play on my own..
I turn my face away from the door, but my eyes remain in place and I can’t see anymore
whispers I only recall from days gone and days before, have crafted a ship and I’m stuck on the floor
and the wind blows and no one knows if it lasts or it goes,
and I can pray to countless stars above or take out my heart and run,
ropes will be cut if I am to sail, guarded by hope and a guided trust, the story unfolds as carved on stone,
far in the wild I’m preparing to build a home years before it starts to snow…

October ends

Posted on by

tumblr_mtz55xkwVI1rg78vco1_500

October ends, October ends, there she goes with all my friends
pumpkin pies and woolen gloves, with all my dreams and all my hopes
and chances are we’ll meet again when I am gone or I am ten
simply bumping into someone else….
November brings the frozen ponds, chilling trees and sleepy wards
along with invitations to attend the social dines,
awkward conversations about somethings I despise
with silent disregard to memories and feelings in my heart…
and here they come,
to take my crown, to take my gown, and put me down…

But in late December when it’s dark and time takes hide
I’ll be born and put a wish and seal a deal under a myth…
and it smells of cookies and mulled wine and fairy tales
and the baking of lasagna and a movie on display,
all remorse and all disdain, everything is yesterday…