Was it yesterday
Or the day before
From the walking silence of responsibility
Goes the man
Who delivers no hope
No resolution
To walk out and never look back
How can the live of a human being
Not be so fragile as to crack
In the silent of the evening hours
For this is the blueprint of
A man who never came home
What would happen
From the teeth of time
Biting into memories
Aligned with
Hope or fear
Would I know
If time was coming up
From the rear
Would I be spared or laid bare
In the time I have to imagine
That I have done the most
I can
For if time had teeth
What would be the move
That the clock would ensue
Form me from the clouds
Of smoke
That billow from the wreck
To be born again
Not in perfection
Rather the most imperfect
Comes new life and
Understanding
Reborn from the wreckage
My soul
Jumps at the chance
To try and understand
That we can be born
Again
Everyday
Around the block
In the winter
Through the woods in spring
Around the corner
Of summer
And up the hills of winter snow
The seasons of the soul
Teach us to let go
For what comes ahead
Is only understood
From what is
Left behind us
In the joyous
And the down time
Of life
Over the spring fields
Slow yields
Into the summer
But for now the harvest of silence
Is upon the lips of the
Long grass
And the trees
As the summer vamps
Up from the southern
Breeze
Why
Not here right now
The winters cold
And the summer breeze
The invisible
Sights
Bursting at the seams
From the heights of Chicago
To the depth of Lake Michigan
To start again
So my letter reads
That love will win
In the dire hour
Of what can be
Amidst the evening flurry
Of the stars and moon
Out calls the fox
And the cat
To sing the song for the sleepless
Not to comfort or to ease
But to place a note
In the midnight air
Upon the ears
Of all of those who
Hear
No more needed additions
From the clock
To the crowing chickens
A season of solitude
In the farm
On the hill
Beyond the trees and
Over the lake
A need for repose
Amidst the wild life
Ahead
So to the season
To the day
A refresh is on the way
In the middle of the night
Driving through the evening
With the folding up of another day
The moon rose
So strangely
That the moon
Had become a stranger
To my own eyes
I could not understand the shape
Or form
As the night wore on
I could rub my eyes
Only to see a stranger ahead
Over the water of
Lake Michigan
Floats the sand storm
From the skeletons of summer
Other than the floats
Of May
The heights of life
Lived
In the summer breeze
With ever year
Comes a new season
Of summer
Upon our skin
A Cup of Songwriting 