making promises
she can’t keep
she
still hears voices in her head
echoing
all the things she said
she’s
given up on counting sheep
tells
herself lies to help her sleep
with all
those self-help books she’s read
making promises
she can’t keep
she
still hears voices in her head
depressing
thoughts are running deep
she
makes a different choice instead
some
medication by the bed
as
softly she begins to weep
making promises
she can’t keep
she still
watches the world go by
but only
now through panes of glass
a narrow
view of trees and grass
a little sliver of the sky
and if
she’s lucky birds may fly
her
expectations to surpass
she still
watches the world go by
but only
now through panes of glass
and from
her window she can spy
the busy
squirrels as they pass
with all
the acorns they amass
yes,
from her window way up high
she still watches the world go by
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
with
words that came straight from the heart
it
really was a work of art
from
what I’ve read it gets my vote
each
line was worthy of a quote
each
word was clever, clean and smart
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
with
words that came straight from the heart
it left
a lump deep in my throat
no one
predicted his depart
who knew
the pain was off the chart?
who knew
it was a suicide note?
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
her world has gotten awfully small
a bed, TV, a clock, a chair
and there’s a little table there
that holds a phone so I can call
she’ll watch the Red Sox playing ball
but can’t recall her favorite player
her world has gotten awfully small
a bed, TV, a clock, a chair
she can’t afford another fall
and moves around with extra care
with special socks that she must wear
to bathroom only down the hall
her world has gotten awfully small
a migrant from a foreign land
he is a master of his trade
with
photos of the art he’d made
arriving
with his tools in hand
though
not the job that he had planned
he
used his skills to just get paid
a
migrant from a foreign land
he
is a master of his trade
the
foreman hands down his command
for
now the sculptor’s dreams delayed
while
carving names on stones displayed
on
someone’s grave the stone will stand
a migrant from a foreign land
