Songs of You of This

I started a playlist and let it run. Songs of You, of This. Suddenly I am transported to another time and place. Where the sun shines eternally and everything is fresh and new. Friendships that seem destined, love that's just blossoming. And one glorious word encompassing all.

Possibility

Hunching my shoulders forward, I react gratefully to the melodies in my ears. Each one unlocking a hundred memories. Kind words, deep discussions, even tarot readings. My heart lurches hungrily, painfully at key moments, tunes, rhythms. Grasping memories that feel almost physical. They weigh me down and lift me up intermittently.

Comfort

I find comfort in the plucking of guitar strings, the beating of drums, the ever gorgeous hums of the cello. Each song I've heard a dozen, fifty, a hundred times. Each time feels like the first. I shouldn't be surprised. Spring is around the corner. I know what this means.

I'm twitterpated.

The Spice to My Sugar

There is this girl
I know so well
And you, you know
Her too she’s
Always dance dance dancing
Life away with
Little to slow
Her down swirling
Whirling round
And round and
Round and

Well-
Perhaps that
Is
Just the way
She wants
You to see her
She
Can’t stop-
For a minute or
All falls
Apart she
Depends on
Me, depends on
Us.

She has a heart
Of gold, of gold
You know
She cares so much
It makes her cry
The tough exterior
And carefree way
Are merely guises
For the fragile
Soul that lies
Within and

So-
She’ll keep on
Keep on dancing
And try
Her very best
To be brave she
Keeps on keeps on
Dance
Dance dancing
Until she finds
The one
Brave enough to
Catch
Her.

Full Circle

Once there was a little girl
Who thought she'd go and see the world,
But little did she know the suprise
Awaiting her warm and bright blue eyes.

She saw great wonders in the Pope's home,
Went to Florence to catch a glimpse of the dome.
She climbed the peaks of Switzerland,
And even viewed gifts for Mitterrand.

She heard the ringing of Big Ben,
Learned tales of ghosts in Edinburgh then
She marveled at the chateaux in Perigord,
And listened to endless French folklore.

She tasted splendors in Ankara,
Explored the entire Alhambra,
She danced the tango in B.A.,
Went to Versailles to see the palais.

She visited the Marché de Noel,
So much she knew she'd have to tell
To those whom she had left behind
When she had known they wouldn't mind.

And what she learned she did not expect
Despite her marvelous intellect,
That the home that she had left one fall
Was the place that she loved most of all.

Why I Can't See the Green in Your Eyes

There he stood, a small lad then,
Brown pools of wonder and delight,
Every color mixing together,
Deep innocence glowing, brightest light.

The boy gives brown new life,
Making it beautiful as never before.
Thick long lashes act as shields,
Preserving his youth evermore.

Adolescence reigns in then,
Like storm clouds on the prowl.
Ominous skies, oracles of turmoil,
Threatening the warmth now, thick and fowl.

Here he stands, now six feet tall,
Emerald creases of experience appear,
Cracking lightening crawls, etching
Green wiry wrinkles, subtly severe.

Spider webs of angst now grow,
And green pokes selfishly through,
Highlighting the freshest of scars,
Defeating every other hew.

The focus and strain of all those years
Shows in the new and murky brown.
That green of knowledge and of smarts,
A wealth of all that innocence gone.

The girl makes all that disappear,
The streaks dissolve, evaporate.
Once again the ageless pools
Erase traces of the fall from grace.

A catalyst making the colors vibrate,
Bubbling up and harmonizing anew.
The doe eyes resurfacing now
The green no longer seeping through.

To her the green is invisible now
As the boy who believed in love appears.
Wisdom covers anguish, with
Smiles replacing all the tears.

So expressive, they smirk, these
Eyes, that slight lip curl
Brightens and softens those globes,
Those maps to the heart's whole world.

The boy gives brown new life,
Making it beautiful as never before.
Thick long lashes act as shields
Preserving his youth evermore.

Agitation still brings out the green,
And boy to man must often roam,
But when he lets her be that spark,
The storms calm and in her he's home.