Poetry For Everyday People
I Sit At The Bar Drinking
I've always stood
silently content,
in front
of paintings,
an outsider
perfectly
at home,
studying every inch
of canvas, roaming,
the soul of another,
brush strokes
have made me cry,
made me:
think,
even hug
a loneliness
I can only
momentarily heal,
and I'm always up
for that cure,
free
to walk in art,
easy as happy hour,
torment, captured,
a silent story told,
blood dancing on colors
of a dream,
there are those
who will instinctively
leave a mark,
for living
needs a song,
as magic roses
sleep
in the arms
of pages.
silently content,
in front
of paintings,
an outsider
perfectly
at home,
studying every inch
of canvas, roaming,
the soul of another,
brush strokes
have made me cry,
made me:
think,
even hug
a loneliness
I can only
momentarily heal,
and I'm always up
for that cure,
free
to walk in art,
easy as happy hour,
torment, captured,
a silent story told,
blood dancing on colors
of a dream,
there are those
who will instinctively
leave a mark,
for living
needs a song,
as magic roses
sleep
in the arms
of pages.
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I Sit At The Bar Drinking
I Sit At The Bar Drinking
