In the waning moments of the night
As the eve relinquishes to a morning call
That is when we must give our all
Not when the path is clear and certain
Certainly when it is most uncertain
When the stage is not yet set
Sleeping behind a pulled curtain
My hope is to rise in those moments
Tested and true
Both of us together
Me and You
Continue to write
Question
Inquire
The creative process shall never tire
Agendas will be set
And disrupted
Hope bursts like a bubble
Whose flight has been interrupted
The job of the artist is to set free
Ideas before they can be accepted politically
To stay pure in original thought and progression
Artistic pursuit on the mind like an obsession
I will not put hope in others
Not those who claim to rise above the rest
As if us the collective whole
Was just a second best
Rather these words are our power
When we are powerless
We can still speak
And be heard
Every single word will land on an ear
No great cause can be pursued with fear
Rather we go forth and seek truth
Writing the words that resonate with me and you
Not waiting for an angel investor or debt collector
We all will write and be heard
Be heard
This truth I have written on January 3rd
There is a song that can be played
Over a thousand times and
Never ring old or untrue
A song that is played at wedding times
A song that is by your side in difficult times
To help see you through
To jump on in pure celebrations
To lean on in times of sadness and frustration
There is a couple of chords
A melody so light and easy
That it is played for someone in a wedding gown
Or when you have to lay a loved one down
It can draw tears in the morning
As the sun becomes anew
Falling tears touching cheeks
As water trickles on grass
In the morning dew
There is a song
Played in these time of jubilation
But also in times of desperation
It is a song that celebrates life
But also reflects on what is right
What is right is that there is a song
A song that exists in all of us
That we must sing to each other
From my soul to you
So we can see each other through
Trash dumps filled with leftover garbage
Garbage bags filled with pieces and puddles
These puddles draw out into spaces
Spaces filled with black remains
Stains upon white napkins
Akin to other refuse piled in lumps
The waste collects from experience and form
From all the toxic air and electricity
Running from head to toe
Upon this I know that I have a polluted mind
Taken away from the productive line
Filled with worries of which I have no control
Over the flow of my life and the rhythm in which I live
Overflowing with fears of a new life lived
Why is the mess a strong figure in my eye
It takes away from the blue in the sky
Filling it with murky uncertainty
Certainly I can change this inhabited space
With the greener liking
A space where life can grow
Leaves fold into the soil and build life anew
I must push forward and never look back
Pack all that I have and journey to greater lands
This is my challenge to set free
The chaining’s of the must terrible kind
And let the trees and flowers bloom
Replacing my contaminated mind
A Cup of Songwriting 