Candescent

I play the blues but I think it best not to live them any longer Things end sometimes; and sometimes it feels as if; You loose; and yes even me. And the silent inscriber pens his dialogs and actions; Another drama plays its self out; And only by design; perhaps the light has shone How little I realized or considered; in the darkness; Was I not the playwright; but of course I was; But I was not; and the delusion consumed me. No need for a tragedy or a comedy; It was simply one of life’s possibilities; It is what it was and the good and the bad ultimately balanced The peach remains attached to the vine; ingesting its nourishment but; Summer approaches; and fruits are picked or will fall but; The circle continues; and once again like new blossoms we wait to grow.