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a bit of my own...
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Chandelier
Watching you leave
I cried until there were
no more
tears left.
each crystal drop wringing out life
until a chadelier of the soul is all
that remains with tears
that cannot be mended
now gape in angry silence
open gashes, i pour
salt in wounds each time
i think
i see you
glimpse in the corner of my eye
glittering light floods back
sunlit days
meandering piazzas in
Firenze and Roma having
nothing but each other
now knowing i have and yet
i have not
everything i had, should have
nothing i have
stolen away
my heart, first unchained
by your gaze from its memory
now chained to memory
once more
i reach out
close my eyes
if i believe hard. hard enough. but
is it really you there?
or loneliness -
more tangible until it becomes
a handful of sand
dreams.
who is in the mind of the dreamer,
unclear, imprecise? who
is the dreamer
i know, love?
am i the only dreamer, or do
i see you too, staring down the pathways
to imagination,
the sight of which is thought,
is knowledge. can i dare trust that
which i think i know?
do i think i know? or am i
just deceiving my
thoughts in motion, stay
in motion, unless acted on by an outside,
you.
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Streets
listen! soft, gentle hymn--
a mourning dove pierces the
stillness of evening.
a long, low whistle replies
as a train pulls away.
amber beams turn leaves,houses,
to burnished gold
--a sky of contrasts--
clouds catch fire in dying
day's last gasp of light and heaviness
falls upon a
slowly darkening world.
doors open, children return, windows
glow with inner light
leaving emptiness, isolated,
alone on the street.
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Tenor
The sounds of the city envelop
every day hustle and bustle of people.
The foggy damp of the morning is chill, but not cold,
yet people walking by have coat collars turned up
against nothing. Each rushes on with complete
isolation of thoughts that comes from absolute preoccupation.
Nothing outside of the few feet of ground
each currently stands on,
walks over,
hastens past. Everything and nothing to a world unaware.
Slowly the sky darkens, and it rains. The oblivion extends
pestering drop-drop more dismal than annoying.
soggy concrete below feet
passes as unnoticed as buildings along side, people passing by.
But then, realization--something.
A sound, unobtrusive, invades subconsciousness;
The slow, rolling melody of a tenor saxophone
severs the ubiquitous melancholy of streets,
sound melting through the drops of rain.
poignant notes hanging in air like crystals on a chandelier.
And there, sitting dejected on the corner, is the musician.
His ragged clothes
and hair.
The sound mesmerizes
the man-instrument blend has become one being
the lush voice wafts over rushing people and colorless rain.
Eyes catch, and within them is depth
two pools of life seem to speak of
hope and hopelessness,
joy and misery. He plays because there is
nothing else, except for the lonely melody of song played
on the street corner in lifeless rain in the city
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