Time tells the story
I can’t wait to hear
From the heart of the known
Skies
A letter arrives
On the desk of those
Who hear
Clear
From this moment
A memory blossoms
A sweet orange hue
A postcard from time
Will make it’s way through
The tea of goodbye
From the morning sky
To the evening upon us
As the departure
Depends on what is to come
So shape the goodbye in the tea leaves
Brewing in the evening light
Hold on to the sweet
And to the bad
Say goodbye
When the calling of the moon
Goes unheard
The voicemail left
Has the longing of night
With the hope of light
In the pale moonlight
Ways of
Weaving the connection
To what is to come
Sweet moon upon my eyes
The voicemail I can’t deny
To call back in the morning light
To call back
Before the next night
In the depth of nothing
There is still the proverbial something
Even in the depth of dark
The sound of nothing comes through
For there is always a pulse in the silence of
Night
The heartbeat tells us we are still alive
But in silence there is still feeling
That emerges
When life is present
So know that saying nothing
Can be everything
In time
Upon the day
Of making
Grey to white
Black to sun
Over the barren dirt
Came light
From one
So we revere this light
Upon our summer skin
In the moments of doubt
We must
Let it in
Heartbeats of the man
Who gave the life
To the world around
To this I am thankful
For the life I have been given
The moon glistens over Lake Michigan
Again and again
Over the subtle flow of water
Dunes
And grass
A life worth living is a sigh to
See
Upon the height of the moon
Beneath the quiet moon
Lives the hopes of many
And the lives of all
To get out of bed
To achieve the day
To set out on sail
Into the headwinds of life
Is a distant hope of
Creating a new path
Better than the old
And fresh with the morning dew
The rising ritual
Sets the sights of one
On the goal of life
Ahead
Beyond the fresh grass
Of spring
And the decay of winter
The blue of spring
And summer
Awaits the
Moment
Beyond the trees
And in the thick of the rough
The wild light waits
To bring the fervor of
Another
Summer day
To the course
And to the game
A bitter world
Can bite
With no advice
From what
Lies ahead
A Cup of Songwriting 