There are lives I have lived,
There are lives I haven’t.
There are hopes I have abandoned,
There are dreams I have forgotten,
I’m no superhuman,
Nor do I intend to be,
Like a humming bird
I fly back and forth,
I relive hopes and dreams,
They fear no death,
For none shall have one,
Like grandma’s abode,
We meet each burning fall,
With a promise!
Make a call, before you can’t make a call anymore,
Take a call, before you can’t take a call anymore.
When you are in a memoir territory, emotions become dominant at large. So much so, that once while reviewing a memoir, a New York Times Editor, (also a reviewer, a playwright, a critic, etc.) Neil Genzlinger, looked at the audience and started by saying, “A moment of silence, please, for the lost art of shutting up.”
-And I feel you Neil!
I don’t know how many of you out there are looking for a sign in the universe, so here it is,
Darling, this is your life, own it, let them miss you for a while,
Let your absence be the answer to all the questions,
Before Barcelona shows you anything, it’ll show you free will!
And love if you ain’t the free will kind, don’t bother flying across oceans, come this far and let the albatross wing size city of liberals disappoint you.
But if you do, let it go!
On a Saturday morning,
My songs would wake up to the high waters,
They’ll glide through the storms,
And sing to the summer,
Walk towards the west,
Looking for the meadows,
I’ll thunder through the hay,
And shine brighter than the lightening,
Oh well, I crave the impracticable,
But, Ohh what a waste,