Loved ones gone but never forgotten
Love lost but always found
Happiness broken but bound to be again
Trust betrayed but hard gain back
A smile cracked but always brought back to the surface
At times left in the dark, your faith will bring you into the light
Undecided decisions in need of a guided path
A moment shed to tears always to be brought to a moment of joy
Tears we've cried always wiped away with the love of those around us
People who have left our side had no purpose for us to understand
Our voice always heard by those who take the time to listen
Glorious spring sunshine kiss my limbs as they sprout
With each opening bud, "I'm so alive" I want to shout
April showers cling to me as I drink each delicious drop
Hopefully chosen by blue jays to build their nest atop
Caterpillars and ants tickle me as they crawl to and fro
Nothing sweeter than watching everything around me grow
Come sit under me, take a break from the hot summer sun
Join me as I watch the baby birds leave their nest one by one
Let's marvel at the beautiful butterflies that flutter all around
The music of my friend the humming bird will surely astound
Smell the delightful fragrance of all the many flowers in bloom
Capture the magic nearby of a newly wedded bride and groom
I'm bursting with colors of yellow, orange, red, gold and brown
I proudly smile each time one of my leaves cascade down
Laughing children make my day as they roll in my splendor
You taking my picture makes this memory much more tender
Scurrying squirrels truly fascinate me, as my acorns they hide
Forgotten ones will one day be my saplings, I'll burst with pride
Snow flakes have delightedly dressed me in a suit of white
City folk string me with lights, I boastfully light up the night
Skaters whipping by me, their energy and actions are compelling
I feel so very blessed to have been rooted within this dwelling
Come and join in the festivities and beauty of each and every season
Become a memory on my branches, I can't think of a better reason
*Dedicated to the 50-80 year old trees in Gage Park, Brampton
How it must hurt you so on days like this,
Walking around with a frown clutching your fist.
Hearing the words that are meant to anger you,
Confused you cry because there is nothing you can do.
Your mind is playing tricks on you driving you to say,
I hate you all and the games you play please just go away.
Trusting nobody you are not sure which way you sould go,
It's not real and all in your head is what you do not know.
Waiting to see just what tomorrow will possibly bring,
All will be perfect and you wont rememver a thing.
Your thoughts they torement you almost every day,
Each night asking our Lord why your life is this way.
Feeling so alone thinking there is nobody who cares,
But actually there is so many but you are not aware .
If only you would hear me so you might begin to see,
You must believe in yourself if you want to be free.
You must have some faith if you are to understand ,
What God has in store for you and what he has planned.
All the hurt and anger will soon begin to disappear ,
You'll stand up tall again facing life with no fear.
Please remember always that you are never alone,
By listening with your heart your path will be shown.
The phrase "Music to my ears" has been injected toward the
wrong part of my body, and most unpleasantly personified.
There is a record player that I let skip and scratch on purpose, hearing
colorful sound of life back when truth kept us both inside the lines.
I thought order was helping me draw closer to you, while you began on the next
page without me. The needle digs it's way into my ape-shaped forearm.
I'm directed by the guitar string shaped veins
that only play notes in the keys of D# E# A# F# and the sharp sounds pierce
my perception to the point I can hardly hear your voice anymore.
At times, listening to the same old sad song on repeat makes me think
that I am just an old soul getting repeatedly tossed around in God's
big barrel of human paradox. "Lord what was I made for? Surely it wasn't
to repeat the mistakes of my forefathers, because I'm certain I am the
only one you molded with forearms so large, that the record got lost
and forgot how to spin in circles. Music is all about art, and art all about
perception. Perception has nothing to do with your eyesight, and
you use your ears to envision the painting on a blank canvas before picking
anything else up but sound waves. I drive myself crazy sometimes when
I think that my inspiration is speeding away from me in the
opposite lane, but I didn't even ask for directions. Mostly because I'm a man,
a stubborn one at that, and I always think I know where I'm going.
But this time, I swear I had gotten the map right. So I transformed my open
hands into tight fists to make music burst out of my arms, and the needle went
faster and faster until it broke off, and the high pitched vibration
disintegrated the steel into my own blood. I blame myself for letting this
be the first time to let myself draw some air into my body. A surgery of
scalpels cutting into my physical, and an orchestral symphony of sutures,
threading my life back together again. My blue blood turns crimson as it kisses the air.
Why do we associate the color red with life and vibrancy, when it clearly shows that we are letting our own blood run down our arms? Why do so many women where red lipstick; the kind that sticks to your collar, screaming to your wife that you clearly sinned?
Why do we see sin so clearly; transparent enough for others to correct us before we really we even grasp the desire to fix ourselves? AND WHY IN THE WORLD IS THIS MUSIC PLAYING SO LOUDLY NOW; when my needle broke off into my body a long time ago, and I can hardly hear you anymore.
Good thing my life's song still isn't completely written yet. Let's add a more positive climax to this. One drawn in harmony.
I lie forlorn beneath freshly fallen snow;
once a bridal veil, now a shroud.
I will not feel the first spring rain.
I will not feel the sweetness rush through me.
Disconnected from the flow, prostrate;
a fallen form freezing to a forgiving ground.
Beside me, remnants of my former glory lean.
Boughs plucked, pieces bent into the endless circle
marked with a blood red bow.
I lie dreaming now with the fallen leaves,
a glorious memory of sunshine, songbirds, soft rain,
and strong winds, swaying in the crisp fall air.
As the last, remnants of memory bloom,
a multitude of bright prismatic light
and the sound of tinkling glass rises
to bring me homeward,
crowned with the evening star
my fallen spirit rises.