I know it will all change
Places
Hands
Roomates
Tiny specks will remain
Of the neighborhood I knew
For just a moment
I was late to the party
Closed it down
What seems meaningless
Will be much more important to me
Miles down
The road
So this one goes out to the neighborhood
It was short
But it was good
Oh to fly
Away from the noise
Higher than the clouds
Get away
When the world
Is pulling me down
Oh to fly like a bird
In a fresh moment
Go with the wind
Go sing songs
Songs of love
Songs of hope
Birds will fly
I wish I could go
On a mission
Or a great diversion
Walks on nights
Needed to refresh and start again
In winters hands
Cold and wired
Late night walks
Are sometimes
Required
What would it take
To get a seat in the cafe
In Williamsburg
Off 6th
Sunday
As the sunlight
Glistens I’m off
Frozen streets
Keeping an eye
For an opening
As the groups of people
Come and go
Bustle to and fro
A seat is precious on a Sunday
At best I can reminisce at how
We once had a seat at the cafe
On an easy Wednesday
But today now a seat was open
Not an empty chair
The sun continues to flow in the windows
Like streams of gold thistle
Through the trashed Christmas trees
Not a seat to be had today
So seats are to be envied
On a brisk Sunday in the cafe
On 6th Street
How odd and confusing
A resolution
Of dissatisfaction
Delusions
My own hopes
Hopelessly irrational
Lackluster performance
Averting disaster
The hands that guide
The world these days
Seem to have itchy palms
Strange ideas
For moving forward
Or learning back
In times we all now wait
To see what will be our own fate
A year was lived
Not too great
Yet pretty bad
Not the worst
But oddly strange
No signs of the world ebbing to
A soft landing
Rather someone trying to gain
The upper hand
We all suffer
All of us
All of us
What is true
What is false
Some will say the end is near
Some say the future starts now
All we can agree on
Is to disagree
Cheers
Wars mentioned in the news
Held up in a moments
Giving me the blues
All the screw balls and confusion
Who has the control
Who is trying to diffuse
Hold on tight I guess
The world it seems
Once was tidy
Now a mess
Hope held deep in the hearts
And homes
We the people
Own our own future
We own not land or car
Renting our time to make
Marks on this world
But in the end we are free to go
So what we leave
Will grow
In hope of life
In the home of each other
A special day
With special meaning
From the New York State
To the lands of Indiana
Hold on while the meanings grow
Strange traditions create
Bittersweet and new
The morning is light
The days filled with love
A Cup of Songwriting 