The City

Good people don’t turn bad overnight.
So when you leave I will still be here,
Waiting.

It’s true, but come back.
Time does pass and things do change,
Though, for better or worse, they mostly stay the same.

You have left your mark,
And a piece of you will always be with me,
As I hope I am always with you.

Time well spent is never wasted.

With Love,
New York City

Self Satisfaction

Happiness from within
On one’s self does depend.
And so it is my goal in life,
To live a life
That I would like.

Meus Mens

He pulls them from a hat,
The colorful magician.
Idle simplicity.

Stolen

I would rather a broken heart.

Love immeasurably shattered,
Its shards strewn and far flung
Because then could I idly hope
To pick up all the pieces.

My heart was stolen
And though I know the thief
I can report no crime.

Now lesser I am,
Still better it is
To live crippled by what was
Than never to know
What could have been.

A Room

A solitary window, no door.
Sanded red oak floors filmed by saw dust.
A palpable solitude.

A hammock fitting two precariously.
A soft wool blanket with a slight itch.
Comfort minus complacency.

A luminous fireplace shinning like
Sunlight through tree boughs.
Assertive but gentle, the lover's touch.

A virgin desk, sympathetic as
An observer to the fruition of my failures.
A passive Panzo.

In such a place,
An easel and an empire,
Would I muse and write unfettered,
To rise of my own, a Camelot.

Iam, Chump

I work for big dollars;
Quartered in a nice office,
My self-respect is nickeled and dimed
so He can get in his two cents.

No matter how I add it up,
I work for the Man.
Which makes me just a well dressed chump
Stooging for his change.

Stringless

Fiends, they ask your full faith for their false fidelity.
Fine, I
Profess no fickle promises.
Pledging only a prodigious passion played purely to your pleasures.