Poetry

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Out of frame a story’s told

and my eyes cannot trace

the sides to determine

what it is,

this digital stage we set up,

this digital play of lights and sounds,

brings us ever together

and as the human drama

unfolds

the sad sight of real lives

trapped within

makes me long for escape–

escape for them, for me–

that the story

can go on

Poetry

Three Minute Positive Not Too Country Up-Tempo Love Song

Inspiration comes from

the oddest places . . .

like an old compact disc

with scratches where

the last track is,

a song not even released

as a single;

a song of substance,

a song with subtext,

a seemingly silly serenade sang to shallow souls

that told them there’s

something genuine in the broken, messy simplicity

of life,

something that made

a young man

smile ear to ear

and still makes him grin.

.

.

Poetry

Vox manet

A beating heart a beat too slow

with the one whom love did bloom

reflection costs, but not doom

thus, the daffodil did grow

___

Thus, the daffodil did grow

flowers for the lover’s grave

yet like open eyes behave

will grow old and lose its glow

___

Will grow old and lose its glow

her face with tears falling down

there remains only the sound

of farewell

farewell

below

Poetry

Foolproof Work (a short story)

Said he, “The valiant never taste death.”

And for a time I never found a fault

But many a time I had heard their breath

Escape, and then seen life come to a halt.

Now around the evening fire sitting

Awaiting judgment and retribution

While the mind wove tales of quick acquitting

And the heart sought out some absolution

Some restless dreams proved to be obstinate

As frail forms of friends came quick to the flame.

“I weep for him; as he was fortunate,”

But those words seemed no more to them than blame.

In silence they judged until the dawn broke

But foolproof work would never provoke

Poetry

Stay

The big things or little

(can’t say that it mattered)

they all left me scared

all left me unflattered

even the notion

of happiness faded

for fear it’d not last

so it was evaded

I’d run and I’d run

the fear kept me away

but then I met you

. . .

Now

I’m longing to stay

Poetry

Background Noise

I can hear what you’re saying

but I choose not to listen

I see the spark in your eye

but will leave when they glisten

I will listen to questions

and I will do so with poise

but it is all about me–

you are just background noise

.

.

.

.

.

.

___________________________________________

I’ll probably make a more in-depth post about this idea down the line. Obviously, it is not my feelings about anyone on here or anywhere else for that matter. Normally I’d let you fill in the blanks that it is an exercise in perspective but it seemed a little harsh. None of you are “background noise.” You matter.

Until next time. God bless y’all,

the real C. D.