Sing Me an Old Style Song
Sing me an old style song,
With pretty flowing phrases;
A story of love gone wrong,
In other times, in other places.
No trumpets blare, just sweet trombones,
A crooner, smooth tongued and mellow.
Hurting, aching, quiet, for me alone.
Sing me an old style song.
Let bottled tears stain my cheeks,
As your freckled nose appears before me.
For I cannot cry to beats and bangs,
Please sing me an old style melody.
That I may cry and cleanse my heart;
Empty and ready for a new filled start.
Invisible Enemy
The invisible enemy has surely fallen down
Among people around fake lights that glow
He’s meant to be here knocking us all down
Into our own darkness of deep deep shadow
I thoughtlessly believed love was just an illusion
Hurting and hating others I had always managed
I trusted nothing, but sadly found no solution
The so called desirable attitude I refused
The invisible enemy has been hurled down
I have finally found the right way to follow
The smooth-tongued liar intends to throw me down
I fight against my own empty and vain sorrow
Invisible enemy still exists pretending to be your shadow
Be watchful and cautious to identify who really is a true fellow
I feel the energy of the song bird rising
A single feather
Twirling like spun cotton
Racing, yet free falling to the ground
Attire of the song bird
Almost offering itself to be re created
Reborn in music
Re written verse
I hold in my hand satin, maybe silk
Strumming my fingers through delicate bristles
Blowing movement into a lifeless cloth
Spiralling as a spinning top
Tip as sharp as a needles spike
From a living creature
Clothes of flight
Patterned, colourful
Alert, yet still
Twisting, twiddling this ancient quill
Close my eyes as I try to fly
Over rain-bowed clouds
In a scarlet sky
Stroking playful upon my arm
A pleasure that could do no harm
Texture of a smooth-tongued skin
As I take this ink and dip you in
Falling droplets of darkened blue
Azure, navy, sapphire too
Like blood that trickles from an open wound
I write this letter as the paper blooms
A splat, a flick, a playful stain
Dry's to reveal a song birds feather
On a papyrus page
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