Windows

And a little boy dreams,
Afraid of the wide world without.
The little window is but so large.
Rough the others play,
With no quarter to give,
Memories do often fade,
But scant do they forgive!
Those little others,
Together they always have been!
The nature of the cruel, they have seen.
These little games they play,
The littlest feels not the need.
But for a little dust on his knees,
He would pay this price, even with his dreams.

That little window was never so large,
But for his friend within,
A friend he cannot lose,
The one he cannot hide within.

Three lines to tomorrow

This day I rewind the old worn tapes,
I feel the music we had missed.

This day I read from old torn pages,
I feel the love it had within.

This day I write my own blue song,
I feel the blood in my feet.

(In continuation to Three Lines To heaven)

Merci

I feel not like a poet

At the chirping birds,

the surging seas,

The rising sun,

the settling breeze !

The divine spark is not for me,

I carry a selfish self,

A lonely man and a lonely heart,

For these words will not let me see.

A different path for me,

A tunnel in the dark.

On friendship

Of sullen stares and bygone moments,

Of wistful thoughts and wry smiles,

Of crinkled foreheads and wooden noses,

Of thorns afoot before bleeding roses.

Days there were, we were naive!

Of silent love and selfish snares,

Of true fiends and sullen stares.

Of words given and promises kept,

Of trust broken and paths we have left.

Days there are when we wait!

In Repose

Of a dear old friend,
So many tales be to tell.
A few pictures and the few words,
Of forgiven love and forsaken swords.
On grand old graves we swore,
A friend forever is a friend no more,
Moments of repose forever lost,
On we go for we must.
Of old bent trees we'he heard,
By the winter so many fall,
Oh and by summer newer leaves abound,
And so does our time call.
And yet in folly we wait,
For forgotten times to be remade,
The first steps are hard to take,
And thus a destiny we fake.