Filed under: writings | Tags: memory, poem, poetry, vanish, writing, writings
The jewels in a treasure chest filled with a million stories.
A bird in a wired cage, she swims in a sea of silence.
The essence of the days when we were seventeen.
When broken dreams lived down the street,
But never on our door steps.
Bid my baby goodnight then drove home to mama,
With the radio on our favourite songs,
Passed the picture shows of horror.
The skies lit up in a blaze of fire,
As we sat on a silver lake.
Count the thousandth moon rising,
And watched the hundredth sun set.
When the day is through and the night is young.
We watched our tails for bed bugs.
With any song that came along was a trace of our existence.
And in the night we closed our eyes,
Wait till all is still.
And all of this will vanish of course, it’d all be gone.
For birds never stay too long,
They always fly home in Summer.
Filed under: writings | Tags: fabulous, people, poem, poetry, writing, writings
All you fabulous people gather round.
We’re starting a commotion; we’re staging a scene,
We’ll turn the world on its head,
We’ll bring down the roof,
Cause that’s what we do,
We’re fabulous people.
Bring your tagged jackets,
Bring your shiny shoes,
Cause we’ll party all night,
That’s just what we do.
We bring the torches,
And we burn the stakes,
We are the makers of your future,
We decide your fate.
We’re the fabulous people,
That’s just what we do.
We are the heart breakers,
The rain on your parade,
We keep the world interesting,
With the zing of life.
Not out of a need,
But to satisfy a want.
We’re fabulous people.
And after all is done,
And after all is through.
When the fabulous people,
Are no longer me or you.
We’ll grasp the slipping memory,
The sound of dying glory.
Cause we were fabulous people,
But it doesn’t matters now.
Filed under: writings | Tags: Fate, of, poem, poetry, Salesman, short, the, Travelling, writing, writings
Sitting by a broken highway
Watching rabbits run,
They frolic on the meadows
And chase a setting sun.
Their beauty and their wonder,
Are unscrupulous to me
As I sit here chair bound,
Yearning to be free.
A prison with a picket fence,
And flowers by the score,
No one knows the quiet hell,
Lurking behind its doors,
Perchance someone may come knocking,
Selling vacuums or the like,
I won’t answer, I won’t bother,
They’ll never see the light.
My oh my, London’s burning.
Go fetch the pails of water
Come, douse it on the fire.
And pray that London will burn no more.
Cause within the damp forgotten streets,
Somewhere is my treasure.
She stalks the streets in the hollow lights,
She walks like the vampires,
She’s high as the moon.
She’ll entice your every fibre,
Then leave you to rot.
In all your wicked dreams,
The hellish prison in all corners of the mind.
All of a sudden you’re found,
Leaving heartaches and losing faith.
Trapped within some kind of paraphrase,
Lost in a London burning so bright.
