In the depths of my daily abyss,
obsessive words, songs & stories,
coiled and twisted words, selfish and cruel,
through their darkness, I finally find my feet:
a mere nothing is never complete.

Like curdled thoughts, they merge and entwine,
in restless minds, where shadows define 
this chaos, a light gleams,
October's moon, a friendly old lunatic, 
like me

stalks this poor man's sky, grace and poise
drift by a  beacon of hope that never dies,
for in the presence of the passing day 
we find solace as time drifts us away,
a reminder to cherish the live-long day..

Oh, the power of rhyme in times like these
heals wounds, gives us breathing space, 
,to build shrines of words to all our
lost boys and  to their unaccompanied grace.

Stranded they may be, but they turn completely,
180 degrees, set their spirit and their hearts free
for time cannot erase the memory of a song
that cancels all that is so very very wrong.

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