Il'arte D'arrangiarsi

I'd ask for an encore
but I'm still waiting for the set list
The mic stands open and untouched
with words left unsaid.
They dance to a familiar tune,
yet the drums miss every beat.


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Like reading only the cover of a book,
I haven't fully got a grasp,
But your first line was a killer
And now I'm hooked without a reason.


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The lonely star sits within the everlasting blackness of
Night, waiting to be wished upon....someone to take a chance
With hope that one wish will ensure her brightness forever.


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There's no point to try and find evidence
For a pretty lie,
A smile
Tainted by a dark veil of illusion,
haunted by the falseness of the truth
which remains buried deep within.
Questions
Holding more power than the answers.
The eyes of the idealist dreamer
dance without concern.

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Burn like Pompei

On the elusive stage of my own design
I stand beautifully empty.
Your stacks of words burn like Pompei.
as my stance remains unfailing
though inside I burn with passion.
A facade of golden brick and mortar,
I called your name and it felt like war.
Happy endings are dependent on the
poet’s final verse.
A manuscript of love and a limerick of lust.
We are closer to the truth than the kettle to the stove
yet drink from the cup of destruction.
Lethargic with our words and
the moment I noticed,
I didn’t want to know.
Discovering that the light at the end of the tunnel
May only be a mirrored reflection of our searchlight.