The Music Man

I hope this doesn't bum you guys out too much, but I've been going through some of my older writing (back to Grade One actually) and came across this piece.

When I was younger a friend of our family passed away from cancer. I didn't know him extremely well, that is to say I don't remember a lot about him now except he was taken too soon, as always seems the case.

Peter was a gentle family man, a musician who loved to sing and play guitar with his band. I wrote this a week before my 22nd birthday; it was really for his entire family but inspired by the emptiness I saw in his young daughter's eyes. I've always found writing to be therapeutic; I guess I wrote this to help me deal with seeing her like that, which if I'm honest upset me even more than his passing.


The Music Man

The music man appears on stage
The song begins to play,
The night burns on, each note each page
We know he's here to stay.

The people seemed happy for the chance
To watch him for a while
I felt his warmth shine as I danced
And saw it in his smile.

But tonight the stage is silent
The singer's now at rest,
There was one song yet to be played
And God made His request.

And now your eyes seem lifeless
As I look at you through mine,
A deep and dark cold emptiness
But a little light still shines.

For though he gave you love in life
And taught you how to care,
He brought some of the love you learned
To hold onto up there.

I still can hear his music;
In his music was his heart.
So if you can think of him and sing
You'll never be apart.

And though I know he left too soon
Please be strong my friend,
Because however beautiful the tune
Every song must end.




God Bless, Peter.



   

Photo credit here

Colours

                                               

Greet dawn's break with stormy eyes.
Heart pounding,
Mind restless, and wild.

Throughout the night
Memories of The One
Held you captive in their grasp, relentless.
Like a book you can't put down,
Or the forever echo of a lover's beckon
On a fire escape at midnight.

But memories cannot be held nor protected.
They run like watercolours in the rain
Bleeding into one another
Until they're left unrecognizable, distorted and dark.

Perhaps the answer lay
Not in struggling to preserve
These most precious of moments
But in our ability
To paint each day anew.
 
 


Photo credit here.

Shelter

A thunderous cry from the Heavens

Its wrath pours down upon us,

Eager to devour.

With no place to seek refuge

We’re gripped in its deluge.

Exposed.

Strip away your soaked apparel

I’ll hold every inch of you against me.

Envelop you in my arms,

Warm your skin upon mine,

And be your shelter

Until the storm’s pass.

Photo credit: weheartit