Unpublished
And unheard
My words
Fall short
When they could
Be bold
In paperback
Or in print
But to me
It’s not important
What is
Is the process of creation
To practice
Daily
With patience
So I am set on that front
Nothing more that I want
I have learned
A certain rhythm
Or my own tune
A style unique
But familiar
When I ask
To far
Or too soon
Repairs needed
When it comes
Undone
But for now
A small victory
Can be taken
Sculpt a world
That I want to live
In
With notes
From a marble throat
Lifted to the highest
Heavens
When music is
Resurrected
To be played from the living
In moments like these
Lift a song
Lift us up
Notes from above
I have made some mistakes
Some I wish to redo
I have baffled through
Many moments in life
Only to learn
What I hope to do
Next time
A wretched rotten
That’s all I’ve gotten
When there is nowhere else to go
Downtrodden
My mind
Collecting moments
I wish could be forgotten
Today’s memories
All the same
Will be knotted
To the post
In my brain
Religion in sound bite form
Looses something
From the depth
Of a northern light
To the quick selling
Famine
Plight
Not even good
Or alright
Express religion
In its cheapest form
Saving graces
Running all over the human
Race
From one to another
Just a word can redeem
What was once lost
But now back
In seen
On the town
Their is a place
To go
When the world grows
Weary in your eyes
When the sun rises
Feelings anew
Coffee in New York City
Is the best place to remember
That life is a continuum
Of the new and old
When the world looks back
To say thanks
For all you have grown
Sick shoes
Nothing new
On the road
Out of fuel
Hold on tight
As the fever passes through
Saturday sun
Fades to a Sunday moon
All comes up
And gone too soon
Days filled with autumn fall
Upon my eyes
Not one
But all
