Sequence

Sore, Sore Sasurai Spy

Mo` Better Blues, A Little Bruise

All will get better with time;

 

Sorrow is the Believer with no mind of its own

 Abandoning the church with broken stain glassed windows

A statue of a fallen angel  grieves for the lost gates to heaven

 

A wheel within a wheel

The same life stories cycle though the ages

Just like the seasons that come and go through the year

 

The Piano man plays a melody for the lives of tormented souls

Nothing is as black and white as the keys he glides his fingers across every night

Loners and the lost listen to his melancholy melodies as if they are a theme for their lives

 

Giving up the gun for firearms are too short to box with God

Wielding a sword instead so he can feel every emotion that comes with every stroke

Comrades on the battle field fight through any desert storm that comes their way with ease

Trains and planes-once you get gone you miss your home

Daily transportation methods are all part the mundane life

To break routine, we put our lives on the line for a taste of change

 

The singing sea is silent in a noisy way at night

With the waves carrying a song heard from the bedroom window

The tune creeps up on the feet and plays in the head while you drift to sleep

 

Tempted are those whose mind states are ill

No resistance is felt when they desire the sweet taste of the red apple

Shady hands hold it out to those who can be easily reached and misguided

 

The drifter and the gypsy find beauty in the hideous

Holding onto the love they have they travel the world in search of something

Together they search for a place to belong and a place where their lives can finally start

 

My foolish heart I trust thee to not be deceived

Yet every time I try to leave and hide the key I find it again

A fool who stands in the rain refusing to leave a house that is not a home

 

Musician, songs from the heart have no gender

No matter the appearance you take on the feeling remains

Loving you from the man I met to the woman you chose to become

 

Night time lights shine to glorify the tainted

Towering skyscrapers built off the blood of civilians

Riches in the hands of a few who distribute the corruption to all

 

Undercover Martyn on the streets completing your mission

Drugs, prostitution and gangs prey on the young and plague the old

But you won’t stop until the streets are cleaned up and we are all truly free

 

Park Bench People

Find a tree to shelter yourself from stormy weather

A stranger may give you that second chance you have been waiting for

 

The rain lets the sky cry for the broken hearted

For those who have no family or friends that can reach them

For those whose lives were set on a long hard road before their birth

 

Thieves in the night

Chasing after death to call yourself brave

You are robbing yourself of a much greater life purpose

 

Draw the stars

For they are souls and the soul is eternal

Putting into perspective how fleeting our lives really are

 

Three days- it’s in a predator’s nature to ruin love

Taking advantage of the trust and dependence one gives them

Hearts are thorns at a young age and become harder to pluck the pain away

 

Bel Air

A child’s innocence comes and goes

Like a breeze it’s allowed to blow some days and not on others

 

I want it all

One’s desires can lead to their own demise

Everyone is a victim to sins and virtues while some chose to victimize

 

Fancy Clown you wear a mask to hide your dark ambitions

Playing with love and lives playing with lust and pride to inherit nothing

The tears of a clown is what you will cry when you obtain the thing-death

 

Strong for yourself

To protect the ones you love

Keep striving with brains and brawns my friend

 

Yesterday -those hidden truths will be revealed today

Seeing those you once called family that have passed away

They have not abandoned you and live on inside your memories

 

That heat- a home is not the only thing lost

In a house fire the smells, sounds and feeling are disassociated

Scattered in the smoke, drowned out by alarm, in the ashes swept away

 

Illness Illusion-the world is lost in its own greed

Ruining the lives of others to assert control over a territory

An illusion we hope will fade away but it still remains to be a sickness

 

 

Sweet potato-give information to help fill the holes

The hole of identity, the hole of loss, the hole of loneliness

Reveal all true feelings, retell the truths in lies, and repair our hearts

 

A little bruise

The pain will be replaced with love soon

And no longer will we be sore, sore wandering spies