Where Silver Tears Do Rust
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The Composer...2001
The composer begins
To compose his own life.
Laying down tracks;
Expressing his strife.
"Don't wanna grow up.
Don't wanna grow old.
Not allowed to be young.
Not allowed to be bold."
He feels anger and hatred.
No crying. Just tears.
For the roads he has traveled,
That led him to here.
His mama, she cries.
Her pain, he can feel.
Her hugs do not comfort.
Her kisses can't heal.
Spiraling downward,
Out of control;
He grabs for his lover.
She steals his soul.
Running hard.
Running fast.
Can't run from himself.
Can't run from his past.
He writes down his sorrows.
Tries to lessen the scorn.
Beat the drums harder.
Pick strings 'till their worn.
The composer continues
To compose his own life.
Laying down tracks.
Expressing his strife.
The tempo, now up-beat;
No anger. Few tears;
Brings peace to the artist
And listening ears.
Determination and hope
Drive his passion to play
His bass, his drums
And his organ each day.
His mama, she smiles.
He feels her joy.
He plays for her, loudly;
Her young, blue eyed boy.
With his song now complete;
No more need to roam;
For the tracks he's laid down
Have led him back home...
L.A. McNabb
20 February, 2001
Copyright © 2004 Lori Ann McNabb, All Rights Reserved
To compose his own life.
Laying down tracks;
Expressing his strife.
"Don't wanna grow up.
Don't wanna grow old.
Not allowed to be young.
Not allowed to be bold."
He feels anger and hatred.
No crying. Just tears.
For the roads he has traveled,
That led him to here.
His mama, she cries.
Her pain, he can feel.
Her hugs do not comfort.
Her kisses can't heal.
Spiraling downward,
Out of control;
He grabs for his lover.
She steals his soul.
Running hard.
Running fast.
Can't run from himself.
Can't run from his past.
He writes down his sorrows.
Tries to lessen the scorn.
Beat the drums harder.
Pick strings 'till their worn.
The composer continues
To compose his own life.
Laying down tracks.
Expressing his strife.
The tempo, now up-beat;
No anger. Few tears;
Brings peace to the artist
And listening ears.
Determination and hope
Drive his passion to play
His bass, his drums
And his organ each day.
His mama, she smiles.
He feels her joy.
He plays for her, loudly;
Her young, blue eyed boy.
With his song now complete;
No more need to roam;
For the tracks he's laid down
Have led him back home...
L.A. McNabb
20 February, 2001
Copyright © 2004 Lori Ann McNabb, All Rights Reserved
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The Composer...2001
The Composer...2001