WOUNDS OF TIME
Innocence and pure, the new born child,
ay by day what's taught and learned.
With an eye that which is witnessed,
An ear, sounds of many spoken thoughts.
Physical pain, hurtful words that disable and change,
Corruption and crime, nightmares of life that torment the mind.
Like scars, lessons that make us strong,
Wounds of time sometimes alter a clean mind.
Can't is only a word, failure learned from weakness,
Our minds and bodies see battles over time,
Learn from them, survive, unkind are wounds of time.
WHAT MAKES A MAN CRY?
Loss from his heart or a fear haunting Inside,
Death of a friend or a love dying slowly, why?
Loneliness created by a life of anger and pain,
What makes a man cry, what makes a man cry.
Whom will understand, who might know why,
The things In the heart of a man that make him cry.
Macho and tough are a disguise, only a facade,
Two sides of emotion, a real man can cry.
The wanting and care from a woman who knows tears,
What makes a man cry, the hurt In her eyes.
What makes a man cry, she who says goodbye.
I walk the morning, the air has a chill and a breeze,
Out In the distance, above the hills they float like balloons.
Shapes or sizes and colors of difference,
Splashed across the sky are painted clouds.
Vanish, they go away for a moment In time,
Reinvented, shaped from heaven above.
Pastel colors appeared In my sight,
Rays of light from the sun trying to peak through.
An Invisible smile, a memory of a face sketched,
Forever In my mind, eyes of beauty, a voice that echoes
Through the clouds.
MASTER OF THE GUITAR
Hammer of the God's, like a wizard, black magic possibly,
An outfit he wears, decorated with dragons and snakes,
Black attire, tassels hanging from that which he wears.
Master of his guitar in hand, double neck belongs to him,
Magician of musical sound as he dances across the stage,
From a legendary Led Zeppelin band, he is the great Jimmy Page.
Bow in hand, he strums to Dazed and confused, mystical tunes,
Animated with such a floor show, speed of his fingers,
Go Jimmy! go,
Master of the guitar, magnificently he plays, from England, the amazing Jimmy Page.
Sometimes I wait for the telephone to ring,
A wanting for a voice that does not sing.
Sometimes I dream about and sometimes I cry,
Love and peace are held deep Inside, understand.
Sometimes I feel that I have to go away, I stay,
So many things to do as I work and play, listen.
Sometimes I'm a very tired and complicated soul,
I'll keep on pushing till the day grows old.
Sometimes I battle the Invisible fight, my fight,
Something to prove as my time gets closer to the light.
Sometimes I search for an Imagined hope of love,
Can not find that which does not wish to be found.
Sometimes I think that I am not seen by many eyes,
Perhaps at times my mind Is closed and It Is I that am blind.
Sometimes I wonder If the world does not need me,
As I discover a wanting for more that It holds.
SADNESS IN THE SMOKE
Flames In the darkness, flames of fright, run, run Into the night,
Men of fear, men who fight through the night, a fire fight.
Sadness and pain as the heat and smoke devour natures beauty,
Who's to blame for this destruction placed upon all good men.?
They run, they hide but where to hide, animals,' creatures of all kind,
Death comes to visit, too take away the Innocent without feeling or care.
Fix your eyes to the tears' from those whom see the land die and die,
Look to the sky, watch as It rises, a picture of sadness In the smoke.
The wind will blow but there will be no trees for It to pass through,
The grass you will not see, the animals' are gone.
Some men do not stand anymore, they disappear with this tragedy,
That must be forever remembered, some day we will learn to love
This land that was created.
Sadness In the smoke above these hills' that burn for the world to see,
Eyes must be opened before It's to late, before this land goes away.
LIVE AND KEEP LIVING
As each day hurt feelings' heal their wounds',
I go on with my life working It through.
At times feeling like the end, although really a new beginning,
Staying strong Is what will keep me winning.
Letting go of what's no more to be,
Is such a hard task for one such as me.
A hold on to hope Is what I'm about,
Over and over, my mind struggles to figure this out.
Live and keep living until I run out of time,
But for right now this whole world Is mine.
IN MY DYING TIMES'
Whispering words' Into the wind, there's nobody listening,
Alone again, finding a place where I might belong In time.
I am a spirit, I am this body and soul seeking my understanding,
Many times' I have died but never enough to make It to the other side.
Lost emotionally, my heart taken away but never physically beaten, I
Cried' have I over the death of many things' loved and now gone.
Die do we slowly In many different ways,' do we have to cry,
In my dying times' I've risen up from the pain of rejection.
The feel of hurt to my flesh and bones' Is no sorrow for me,
My Inner being can only withstand so much more agony.
My emotions' written down, taken from Inside this shell,
This heart heals as I rid myself of these tears', dirty tears'.
In my dying times' remembered always In my mind,
Learn the secret of your own happiness, learn to live.
Like every season In which death Is a constant reality,
All forms' of life disappear, they vanish Into another time.
In my dying times' I live on, In my dying times' I have grown.
IN SEARCH OF
In flight, searching for hope of a better today,
Into the sun, across the wide open ocean below.
The sky has many colors' today, look to the sky,
Seagull soaring up so high, through the earths' window.
Freedom to wander, to fly, why can't I fly up so high,
Everything Is seeking In search of answers' of their own.
As a bird In flight, a man walks' the road,
In search of his own Independence of where he belongs'.
"Keep searching" Keith Garrett