too good to be true/shameless

A desire to create poetry.
To lend cadence, add lilt.
To take the other route
Around the city and
Drive at 90, perhaps.

To feel Dali. To drink coffee.
To indulge in acts of kindness
That only prolong rhymes,
Sustain reverberations.

A desire to create poetry;
Out of the things you swear
You could never do, feel, or
Succumb to.

It’s not for you to decipher.
Nor for me to encode.It's
Just a matter of time before
The chords ring themselves out

And silence engulfs.

stalemate/incomplete

“What part of our history is
Reinvented and under rug swept?
What part of our memory is selective
And tends to forget?”

What measure’s effective and
Assures of things needed?
The story’s intensive and leaves
No room for regret.

What goes wrong each time
One converses, not pretends?
What passes my mind whenever
an impasse is created?

Of all things mysterious, drowning
hope, resisting change,
This one’s the toughest and needs to
Go, just needs to go.


P.S. was listening to 'under rug swept' by Alanis Morissette.
followd the general idea. first four lines are taken from the song.

i owe these lines to Ron.

almost an afterthought, but not quite

This evening deepens into
Darkness but still the songs
Don’t play as soft and
As soothing as on the nights
Of holy wars and game balls.

You are the way I live.

To overlook the creases in the
Paper is the only way to be, for
Out there what really matters is
Whether the jigsaw matches.

Hadrian’s Wall

Let one year lead to another, let the night grow old
Let the thought of yesterdays run naked like the moon.
Let go of the half-penny and years of sun and rain
The day is gone, the time has come; the future will remain.

What you see is what you get and all else is in vain:
The masque parade, the make-believe, the stories they would spin.
So come on now, face the day, it’s yours if you are free
Of habits past, desires gone. Just learn to let it be.

Come with me and don’t relate their nonsense to the truth.
What is real and what tasted sweet, I did know all this while.
Did I hear you calling then? Did I stare at the phone?
Did winter die of lack of sleep, forgetting what we’d done?

Please don’t ask. I don’t know. I know I’m alive.
I’ve crossed the gate; I’ve scaled the walls when all were meant to die.
The truth is won; my life is mine, now that I am free
Of gigabytes and cotton shirts. Just let go, let me be.

P.S: Hadrian's Wall: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadrian