"Name" by The Goo Goo Dolls

And even though the moment passed me by
I still can’t turn away
Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose
are tossed along the way
Letters that you never meant to send
Lost and thrown away

And now we are grown up orphans that never knew their names
We don’t belong to no one that’s a shame
You could hide beside me
Maybe for a while
And I won't tell no one your name..
And I won't tell 'em your name

Scars are souvenirs you'll never lose
the past is never far
did you lose yourself somewhere out there?
Did you get to be a star?
Don't it make you sad to know that life
is more than who we are?

We grew up way too fast
Now there's nothing to believe
And re-runs all become our history
A tired song keeps playin’ on a tired radio
And I won't tell no one your name...
And I won't tell 'em your name
I won't tell 'em your name...I won't tell 'em your name

I think about you all the time
but I don't need to sing...
It's lonely where you are, come back down
and I won't tell your name

Comeback II

 (source)

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that you have to act so twisted.

Jealously will eventually tear us all apart I know,

For I am not perfect, and neither are you,

So you shouldn’t act so.

Fake façade, you need a mask.

One with feathers, glitter, and gold,

To hide those imperfections you are so insecure about.

What a fragile thing you are.

It makes me sad.

So breakable,

Someone will break you.

So full of pressure,

You will someday blow apart.

Life is hard,

My “friend.”

This is why I must be hard also.

"Bird Whisperer"- A Poem

 (source)

Bird whisperer, bird whisperer,

Oh, can’t you see?

You’re chasing tiredly after

A thing that can’t be.

They flutter softly away

Into the pale blue sky

As you watch them leave,

You wonder why

Why they don’t stay

Stay near the light

Instead they hide away,

In the black haunting night.

Bird whisperer, bird whisperer,

Oh, can’t you see?

Instead of wishing for something,

Just let it be.

photographies aléatoire

"The Library"- A Poem

I walk by Thoreau,

And give him a little smile,

While he laughs at the self-help book I’m shelving.

“Ha!” he seems to say.

“Why, you can find your “help” in the woods,

Where the fruit of mystery awaits you.”

I give Shakespeare a welcome glance,

As I hold a children’s picture book.

“Yes,” he explains,

“Let their minds become sharp

With the knowledge they discover.

Let their imaginations soar through the depths of life.”

Walt Whitman is contradicting himself

In a dusty corner as the morning light tickles him.

“Your very flesh is a great poem,”

He tells me,

“Marvel in the silent sun

To figure out your poem’s feelings.”

As I turn to leave the quiet sanctuary.

Ray Bradbury calls to me from a distant place,

His voice echoing through the building.

“There are worse crimes then burning books.”

He says,

“One of them is not reading them.”

Poems

 

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

~Robert Frost