Free for All
Sold my dining room furniture
At the pawn shop, Grandma forgive me.
I’ve seen the sunset in too many bedrooms
That weren’t my own,
Now I’m falling in love
With myself for the first time.
I’m gonna paint my pictures
Hang them in my living room
And pay lots of money
Just to have them framed.
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Needles and dealers and dying on dirty bathroom floors.
sitting at the old oak table in the kitchen
in the one unbroken chair
where an innocent morning light travels through
the grimy glass of an un-curtained window,
he sits and writes about all the people Jesus didn’t save tonight.
He reads them to us in his clean white shirt.
We sit and listen as the words pour out like crystal
clear champagne on our glass tabletops.
Our first "real" poem (not one of mine)
Evening sings, and we listen.
The red blanket sun unfolds,
as orange becomes indigo,
and sleeping stars course to chorus,
beckoning hearts to follow.
Soft upon your lips
are the tones of our earth song,
a wind-embraced crescendo
as we join their verses.
Melody surrounds us,
as caverns ascend
Tiptoe now the star paths,
hand-in-hand to dance, celestial ballet.
-- Memory Trace