I didn’t do that
You did that
It’s time we admit, you did that
You did that because you came here wounded
I let you do that because I empathized with you
In that sense, we did that
I hoped to help you
You didn’t know you needed to help yourself
I didn’t know you needed to help yourself
I know you didn’t mean to do what you did
You couldn’t help yourself, as, you hadn’t helped yourself
You didn’t know
Know this
I forgive you
God said, “let go.”
This universe and its sprites
Plan to dance
And a grand effort
From the beginning of your days
To recruit you, as-is
Your blues, and your shoes, baby
Has been and will not end to be Underway
Thus, you must say, “Okay.”
calls us all, “Darlin’”
so we all think we’re Somethin’
Waterboy Cowboy
Sexy Summer Day
I won’t let you slip away
Not without a fight
I don’t remember Rome
My feet upon the Spanish Steps’ amber hollow
Too, the rushed-through blue
Maserati 5-speed — did I dream it?
Adam’s lapis aura above mine own
It all escapes me, St. Peter’s Square
Peering out over the shoulders of Saints
Counting each cobblestone
And, inside, La Pietà
What tears and blessings I carried away
Yet, I still see Versailles
Grandeur in the Hall of Mirrors
Forgiveness thence reflected
Learning of gold-gilded love
Take me, as, I’ve never been
no wonder I doubt
the night sky’s sparkle and depth
for he is fleeting
Photo Credit: Tiger R., age 14
Original Thought Credit: “You should know a man seven years before you stir his fire.”
— Charles Dibdin, 1803
I say, such songs
Imbecilic, hypnotic
Truthless reptitions
Needn’t define us
Insofar as we’ve allowed
Poor lyrics, off-tempo
Disharmonious disasters
Correct the record
Take back the microphone
Tuning fork in hand, now
Hell-bent on the past
Talking to ghosts
Ending sentences with propositions
Spinning the time away
That I’d finally let it all die, with courage, I speak to a cowardice sky
It’s been four years. I miss you every day. You’re the only one I want to grow old with.
These bad habits galore — what for?
Would the knave or the knife or whatever this pain be
Would usurp someplace else than the wound ‘twas left in me
Would that I have the chance with the welded tines of time
Would not I, having danced, not unspeak love’s blue-eyed rhyme?
There’s much to be said
But I’m not pulling their card
Today or Wednesday
LisaRosier.com 