The light passes through glass
Rigid at the top
Distorted unequal wobble
Of light through the bottle
Incandescent lit up flutter
Transparent empty
Filled and dashed away
Sips of cold water saved
Into the hot wash
Cracked plastic dry
On the table coop
In this coffee shop
–
The Brooklyn Cafe
Seven up hot drinks
Laughter
Tunes
Common swoons
While the coffee machine croons
To stiff business collars
And relaxed jackets
Soft sips
Furrowed brows
White tables decorated with coffe stain
Constant drone of the roaster
Light bean roasted
In the Brooklyn Cafe
–
Fresh roasted
And drank
The goods
–
The sense of unity
A deep spring within you and me
Is fundamentally
An idea which
We should all agree
Ideally
However when a evil tragedy
Strikes the innocents
Lacking any true humanity
What are we left with
Other than a hollowed out hope
A useless and frayed rope
I have a belief
That there is more to unite
Than to tear apart
We as humans all share a common heart
Not emotionally
Purely physically
We are born with brains and toes
We all face our challenges of growing old
Not all is lost in humanity
I just saw someone yesterday
Help a lost fellow on the street
Maybe a hope of full unity may fall away
The hands of each other
We somehow share a sense of commonplace
Deep within the human race
On a Monday it seems burned out
Washed up and worn out
The hope runs like a well deep underground
Running full but without a sound
I share this hope
That is the simple humanity of each other
That we are truly bound
The smell of linens
Warmed hot in driers
Lamp post
Stuck with weekend fliers
Rusted out steel on buildings facade
Bustling traffic on Kenmare
I make my way to the Williamsburg Bridge
Over the eastern edge
And back to Brooklyn
No more than a bed
To call my own
The only options are rent
No hopes to own
So our time here is quick
Subtle and sweet
Seeing some familiar
Faces out on the street
The people still hustle
Just as I remember
Checking in 2 months past
September
The city sways easy in Autumn leaves
Until it will soon be our time to leave
Non brokered life decisions
Going broke
With entitlements given
We hope upon life grandeur
The vestments of blessings
Hopefully lay ahead
Life uncertain
Is better than certain
Mentally dead
What is safety
Pushed away unsafely
City streets stirred up and shady
It seems a story slams the headlines
Daily
The feeling is uneasy
Slightly crazy
How is it that civilization
Can never be quite content
Individuals looking for a reason
For the greatest descent
Wake up on Monday morning
The headlines read
3 men attacked with guns
On the streets
New York City
In the highest of high rises
No reason to sympathize
For one foolish man
Can bring down the hearts of 3
Right on the streets of the city
Disputes, commutes, early mornings
No sudden warning
My wife and I were only 4 miles away
Uneasy it seems these days
Life can be short of pretty
On tough days in New York City
It was a conspicuous Sunday
Evident by the uneasy morning
I could tell this was not a resting day
A day of farewell was on the way
My Grandfather who earlier had lost
His only lover
Only 12 days away
From the 65th anniversary
He was on a mission
To hold his heart into submission
So on the 28th
He could launch from this land
To be with his lover on the anniversay
Hold her hand
True his love had lost the love of life
For the one true love of his life
His wife
He was ever determined
One thing for certain
He would not show up late
Wave to the gate holding dignitary
As he must be with his wife
On their 65th anniversay
The fast food fascination
Greasy hand salutation
Black fingernail sludge
With no regard
Just a lopsided smudge
How many mouths enjoy
What the corporate supply chain
Has fed down the drain
From this repulsive trap
We consume such meat
Prestige as if it where a treat
Not one question is asked
Until the collective conscience
Is fully grasped
Then we become more aware
More in tune
Of what is going on in the room
By then our bellies are full of antibiotics
The green eyed optics
Somehow we agreed to this tender
Although we never saw
The face of the sender
Where do lost dreams go
From the heads of dreamers
To the world outflow
Do dreams dry up and fall away
Do dreams pack up on a rainy day
Is there a collection of dreams
On the other side of time
Or gently recycled
What was once yours
Is now mine
Do dreams rest well below the sand
Never to be unearthed or seen again
Fall like autumn leaves on a cold day
Raked together and thrown away
Or do they linger around
Like the smell of smoke in an old town car
Can you see them trying to survive
Like summer grass planted late in July
Do they hold any hope of reimurging
Like dreams floating up and resurging
Or do dreams walk away quietly
Not disrupting the feelings inside me
Or do they burn out bright and wildly
Dreams exist
Dreams must not die
It gives me hope
To run fast or fly
Some are real
Some uncertain
Take the time
Pull back the curtain
In each of us I am certain
Behind humanities weary seam
We will find
Each one of us has a dream
A Cup of Songwriting 