The Dreamer and the Siren The Dreamer was awoken, By words never spoken, Just the font of fate embellishing his screen. And his mind began to open, To the sense of new emotion, He relaxed and felt it touch him, pure and clean. A Siren in the corner, Aloof, but somehow warmer, Awoke this weary Dreamer with a song. A reposed and haunting place, Where she hides behind a face, It is now the place they feel that they belong. The Dreamer and the Siren, Fighting, loving, crying, Sharing hearts and minds together as if one. Retreat together warmly, After battles fought forlornly, ‘Cause they cannot ever part from being
Nineteen Roses Nineteen roses we planted with care, To bloom in front of our dream. We worked as a team, to plant red, yellow and cream, And nurtured them through their first year. Daily we checked on their health and their needs, And sprayed and pruned and fed. Watered and weeded, and cut blooms as we needed, To fill our home with colour and scent. To both of us then, such a short time ago, They were our pride and our labour of joy. We would look out each morning, at the river performing, Its sparkling dance, behind our roses in row. Do you remember that time? When we smiled.
Where Were You Where were you when Kennedy died? Can you remember when the shot got fired? I was a kid just six years old. But I remember, I remember Oswald. I remember the place, I remember the time, I remember something was lost. Where were you when Elvis left? The king is dead the radio said. I was twenty-one and newly wed. But I remember. The King is dead. I remember the place, I remember the time, I remember something was lost. Why do I remember, Death and tragedy? Why do I remember, These days so clearly? Where were you when John got shot? Shot by a fan, imagine
A little bit of long forgotten poetry today. Dug out from the past. The Journey I have wandered through my life, Felt the pain of fear and strife, And had tragedies as everybody does. Some times of love and bliss, And at times with one to kiss, But the feeling, of an emptiness, never goes. At times, the bottle was a crutch, Did it help the pain? Not much, But, it numbed the parts of me that hurt. The loss of time together, with my children, Was an extra heavy burden, To numb that pain, nothing seemed to work. To run from any pain, Seemed the answer, but again, The