You can say I’m a friend who you’ve know beyond forever
or you can say, “Hey, please stay a while.”
There’s a time for sleepless nights and scented candles
and a time for sleepless, sultry smiles.
How can love be so blind?
How can love be so blind?
How come we’re so intertwined?
How come we keep wasting time?
Try to put your worried mind at ease, precious one.
If you could slow the ride you’d wind up late.
You wanna make that big, bright sun super-jealous
so you tell the noon, “The moon and I have a date.”
How can love be so blind?
How can love be so blind?
How come we’re so intertwined?
How come we keep wasting time?
You and me were something like riding down the highway
in the back of rusty, old Ford.
Laughing and waving at the cars passing by us,
couldn’t see the places we were heading towards.
How can love be so blind?
How can love be so blind?
How come we’re so intertwined?
How come we keep wasting time?
Let me take a deep, long breath; I can’t keep up.
My head is spinning round and round.
Lost in the thoughts of who we used to be,
trying to hold together who we are now.
How can love be so blind?
How can love be so blind?
How come we’re so intertwined?
How come we keep wasting time?
How come we keep wasting time?
How come we keep wasting time?
We can see the finish line
so how come we keep wasting time?
Month: February 2023
They’ll Say You’re Scared
Maybe you wanna run away.
Maybe you think the river can hold you.
The pain’s here and it’s there, too.
Sometimes reality is simply not on your side.
Sometimes, they want you the most.
Sometimes, they ask you the most.
Sometimes, you beg them the least.
And that’s when they’ll say you’re scared, when you’re begging the least.
They’ll say you’re scared while handing over a shiny, sharp knife which you may use to pick your dirty teeth clean.
They will go, the things you needed, the things you wanted.
They will go on without you by their side.
It’s easy to explain in poetry because it’s true.
Children of the Field
We’re the children of the field
We’ve got an empty field to walk through
Black birds overhead
Black birds not too high
And as long as you believe
We’re the children of the field
We’ve got an empty field to run through
Black dirt underfoot
Black dirt dry and cracked
Come along and walk with us
We’re the children of the field
We’re the children of the grain
We’re the children of the giant’s blood
Dirty children needing rain
Sinners On The Run
The mind, synthetic diamond,
Seduced by sinners on the run,
Makes a refuge of stale shadows
Cast by judgements from one sun.
The heart, malfeasant mechanism,
Bound to sinners on the run
Seeking solace from the bright,
Beguiling prizes they have won.
The soul, valorous vapor,
Vanquished by those sinners on the run,
Re-writes horrors into memories
Of tiny hands held to loaded guns.
A Burnt Offering Song
Exhaled a city of blue, broken dreams,
A bard’s breath of what changes blow.
Lit by strings of lights that blink fast and gleam,
flickering with old hopes to show.
Oh, this night is fast and sounds asleep.
These roads are raped, ragged, and wrong.
Still move we so slowly through thick cloud and dark chain,
while singing sweet, burnt offering songs.
I’ve spit blackened fire and cried tears of red rain,
I’ve cannibalized simple and sane.
And I’ve learned to respect the littlest things
that crawl under skin and through vein.
Oh, this night is fast and sounds asleep.
And these roads are raped ragged and wrong.
Still slowly we move through thick cloud and dark chain,
while singing sweet, burnt offering songs.
Oh, the world is precious, endless, droning noise.
Oh, the world finds silence reproachful.
We no longer hear our glass heart’s beat voice.
And I know here’s where I’ve found my purpose.
Oh, this night is fast and sounds asleep.
These roads are raped, ragged, and wrong.
Still move we so slowly through thick cloud and dark chain,
while singing sweet, burnt offering songs.
So this is for you: a burnt offering song.
I hope that you find it was worth it.
A ritual death from a fire lit long,
fueled by you getting all that you wanted.
Some Straitly Walk
“Thus, by tracking our foot-prints in the sand, we track our own nature in its wayward course, and steal a glance upon it, when it never dreams of being so observed. Such glances always make us wiser.”
—Nathaniel Hawthorne
The sun stopped shining
some time ago.
The winds have blown
the palms away.
I seem to recall,
before these rising tides,
there were footprints
right beside me,
right here along the strand.
I find it difficult to know
if the one who left them
had been a one that walked
or been a one that ran.
They’re always over soon,
these rising tides.
And then tomorrow
becomes a thing a century old.
Tomorrows and tides,
returning ever as reminders
of that which what it is
and that which what it is not.
Footprints in the sand.
Sand so soft and silent.
The tides come in.
The tides go out again.
Sand so smooth and silent.
Difficult to hold for long.
Fertility
I can never ever
________ again.
I’m too old,
too tired,
too lazy
to run in to work.
I hold my breath until I fall down.
Thoughts will come tomorrow.
Then I’ll find out
just what I’ve done wrong.
Yeah, I will listen like a child.
Yeah, I will turn it into song.
Do you feel twice afraid now?
You will live only to die alone.
It’s OK no one gets through it.
You’re going home.
You’re going home.
You’re going home.
You’re going home.
Stop
Stop don’t
go stealing our time.
Too long, too long
And we’re alone – a-
lone.
Too far gone in the flowers
God, these roses look so lonely lonely.
Too far gone in the flowers,
God, these roses need a friend like me.
Jason Preu 