The morning always brings another sun Forgiven are all the other ones Another lesson for another time Makes you feel like it's just a crime The evening always brings another moon Is setting, for she often she comes up as the spoon Above her, tangled are your every thought With meaning, for every fight we haven't fought You'll find yourself on a desolate path For everything is an illogical math Thanks is given, others bought With meaning, for every fight we haven't fought Forgetful, are our sullen dreams And confusion ties shut our unmended seams You tell yourself, there again Find yourself your only friend Tell me now, my sweet friend Of what really matters in the end Only time - time will tell You make it heaven, you make it hell All these metaphors, ups and downs You can smile or put on a frown Positivity, negativity Only you can wear your crown No title at all... ©2004 Boris Samagootceio
Well... I wrote it, but Boris is my pen-spirit (I refuse to call him just a name)... He was my first and only alter being within me. I discovered him when I was eight. In my mind, he's a very elderly author... maybe in his 60s. Sometimes he smokes a pipe. He's in florida right now... he looks like a mixture of Ernest Hemmingway and James Michener at the moment and appears to be an author. When I first met him, he was a Russian-Italian undercover MI6 agent appearing to be a truck driver with a pet chimpanzee... he was depressed over the cold war . Boris wrote some of my most influencial writing... I missed him... glad to have him back.
are you looking for a title...cause if you are, i would suggest something completly random like the Cream song "Badge" or "Tomorrow Never Knows" by the Beatles...i like it though...
I do that all the time... I have songs and poems titled anything from "Dirt Roads" to "Asshats On Fire"... and the song Dirt Roads is an instrumental...
that "dirt roads" thing reminds me of the Guess Who instrumental called "969 [the oldest man]" about the oldest guy in the Bible cause Bachman was a morman...
