draw me your way (now) as i draw you my way (how) in bright reds and in steel grays on ivory parchment or finest of papers in boldest strokes and softest calks with images clear and fuzzy works to call you my way (how) as you call me your way (now) in sweetest verses and strongest prose you've drawn me your way (dear) and i’ll draw you my way (near)
is chaos bad and order better as when we sit to pen a letter? true it seems in ordinary things but order may have the shorter wings for at times disorder mothers insight when darker corners are bathed in light as fleeting moments and flickering thoughts cast attention toward forgotten spots. it may be true that order is better but on occasion one might surrender to the jagged whims of the other, you know the one, not order
days are ablaze with confusion billowing doubt and haze left to stumble like the drunk in his permanent daze though in times of clearer climes enough to see your face traced with glee and gentle smiles laden with love and grace for a moment warms the heart erasing the must and greys with impunity messenger comes to announce "this won't stay" lost it seems in foiled dreams while living day by day in desperate need of rose colored shades to power through the grey secure i stay with the knowledge that my love for you can grow but to love you now is impossible for circumstances make it so
it's a funny thing solitude - when surrounded by the multitude it may seem absurd at times. to some painful - blissful to others, a bit of both to me - i think. crowds arouse a sense of flight but when the quiet rings too loud desires for the crowd abound.
are sunsets fairer than noon-time skies or is their beauty in our eyes with promises of coming nights when lights are dimmed and passions rise at the looming hour of beasts and prize in bursts of scarlet and pink surprise?
when we focus on the breeze do we hear or just surmise the distant moans and lustful cries of dreamy deeds and little lies in muted voices and resonance accompanied with countless sighs?
when it dips across the line while the brilliance starts to fade as the images drift away should we think that beauty's dead or the promises that were made were induced by the color red?
though the tide was low in the morning glow off in the distance all in a row they sat in wait for the perfect swell wearing their suits black, snug and narrow they gently swayed with the ebb'n flow.
in pairs, threes, the occasional four they passed the time recounting the lore of thrills they had and the friendships made of yesterday when the sea gave more and the ones they rode right to the shore.
as the morning waned, the light got bright and the waiting flock practiced their flight the rising breezes from distant shores sculpted the chops in their line of sight they bade farewell till later that night.
seven, seven oh seven is just another day, numerically interesting - significant in no other way, nothing special really, a day of work or play. in wintry places rain will fall - trees will sway and in other parts there shall be no grey. some will weep, some will not, others go away, the hungry shall suffer and the greedy shall not but in the end the sun will set in a spectacular way reminding us today was special indeed - as was yesterday.
'Tween doubt and certainty rests reality. Not restful, mind you, unlike tranquility -- a pendulum of sorts tempered by gravity, powered by anxiety. When certain, doubt pulls -- certainty pushes when doubtful. Thus life goes on ... continually.
can i be true and mine at once as you are true and yours and mine you twice as true as i dare in mine i true sometimes yet yours in mine can i be yours and here at once as you are there and yours yet mine you twice as far as i care out there i here yet there in yours and mine can you be mine and true at once as i am yours thus true in mine i twice as near as i can from here you here and there but barely mine can i be true and yours at once as you are true and yours and mine