Certain songs I cannot sing, conceived to cry, melodic intervals, melancholic chasms, lyrics left unsung like spoken word, life's celebration cut short, the foolishness of what we feel, fragile undying compulsion to love perchance to exist, finally Just when the fun is starting, comes the time for parting... cc: Chagall 2022
Tag Archive: time
At times, I miss the living as much as those who've passed cc: Chagall 2022
The heathered pink and blue of this dying winter's day, reminds me joy is tinged with sadness, while love and sorrow be a singularity How the trees' wood turns golden in the gloaming! We of the canopy there in the dying light, hereby... Stripped branches like veins reach to the indigo, as much above ground now as rooted below Stars be our blanket, protect us from the wind till dewy 'morrow cc: Chagall 2022
I've a fleeting memory of having once been prescient of this very moment, long ago imagining myself one day thinking back. cc: Chagall 2022
I enjoy the time between now and then especially when then is far off then I tuck comfortably inside the early days a small curl of cozy time where my mind dreams big things or better yet, dreams nothing when then is near, as now, I drag moments out eternally with each beat within a breath I rotate to see all that has been until now and I am forever on the verge cc: Chagall 2021
I imagined once I would be here, as surely as I remember that day now, there upon a time yet living cc: Chagall 2021
I retrace the lines of your handwritten letters and imagine you once sitting there I see what you saw as the ink flows cursively from your heart, to your head, to your hand, to the paper, now yellow and cracked where your fingers run the length of the folded seams; it seems only yesterday or a lifetime ago a small water stain outside the margin, perhaps a drip from a teacup that day that missed your lips and fell, to be absorbed or maybe a tear I wish I'd saved the envelope that held the missive close in hand, the flap and stamp that touched your tongue, a return address where no one lives today at least no one I know cc: Chagall 2021
on the scale of it all we are nearer the end of the smallest of things cc: Chagall 2021
Where do the young go, do they frolic in a new field warmed by an old sun, or in aged meadows lit by now? Everything dies, sheds skins, to give way to the moment Once swayed by the song, the length of the body in dance presses on, listens for the rhythm, hums along until the tempos change And watch as if outside-in, themselves a third party, a single heart here... From the rise that emerges there in the lowlands, amid the mist and the faces, an outstretched hand, a single smile, a breath, a curl, a lash, a cool smooth cheek The incredible sensation, the surround of loving arms, the perfect nestle of neck in neck, a race to all that is good was once good I know now that blue continues long after the eyes are gone cc: Chagall 2021
Better days will come, my friend, at least that's what they say, and we will rejoice at their dawn. The lost along the way are strewn along the petaled path we spy, spirals into the hidden curve behind us. Before us the road well-hidden still bends there in the undergrowth. Moments turn to hours, goodnight turns to morrow... And way has led to way as has been told, and years and years from now, we - We will tell tales of a time when better days lay ahead. cc: Chagall 2021
Alphabet City 