Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Alright

Another beginning is starting its ending today. I ain't okay
so don't come raining down on this parade.
The bubble has burst. The clowns have gone. The party's over.
Now, I'm done with this charade.

You left the room and left the lights on all night.
I woke up blinded and you were nowhere in sight.
Honestly couldn't remember if we had a fight.
And all this time I thought we were alright.

Now there's no more laughing and talking 'til morning comes
through the windows. No more kisses on the nose.
And now I'm beginning to feel the gaping hole you left in me.
You have gone, and so it goes.

You left the room and left the lights on all night.
I woke up blinded and you were nowhere in sight.
Honestly couldn't remember if we had a fight.
And all this time I thought we were alright.

Promises made and promises broken, feelings to share left unspoken
We could've given. We could've chosen. We could've been.
But you made your choice and now I'm broken. What else is left to bargain?
I could not have seen it coming.

Maybe tonight when I imagine you beside me
under the sheets on my bed.
I'll close my eyes to try to catch some scent of you
on the pillows on my head.

You left the room and left the lights on all night.
I woke up blinded and you were nowhere in sight.
Honestly couldn't remember if we had a fight.
And all this time I thought we were alright.


Another beginning is starting its ending today. I ain't okay
so don't come raining down on this parade.

- for Doc, completed August 4, 2008

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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda