Chasing After Wind

Mr. Dramatic Returns to the Attic

Mr. Dramatic

has locked himself in the attic

and won’t come out to play.

Woke up on the wrong side,

woman took his pride,

it hasn’t been a very good day.

He’ll go for the gusto,

he’ll go for it all,

But, for sometime,

in the meantime,

on his own time,

he’s staring at the inside of walls.

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

It gets a little harder every time

living life in pantomime,

with all the lovely ladies

in costumes at the ball.

He doesn’t feel any static

sitting in the attic.

As a matter of fact,

he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

He held them when they needed holding,

consistently kept them warm;

but when he wants warmth

he must warm himself.

The warmth only lasts a little while,

so when he feels the warmth of a smile,

He goes back to his attic

and smiles until he cries.

______________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

The Hinge

Residue of confusion,

Wayward distortion of fact,

The jester has simply

forgotten how to act.

It is one thing to let loose

and go on a binge.

Quite another to polish

An old, rusty hinge.

The one ignores the fact,

the other faces it.

Mr. Dramatic ignores it

while the jester chases it.

The jester just laughs,

though he doesn’t get the punchline.

Mr. Dramatic just imagines

that the hinge has a bright shine.

___________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

Static in the Attic

There is nothing but static

in the attic

as Mr. Dramatic stares at the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

Mr. Dramatic catches glimpses

in the reflecting mirror,

as the vision appears in the

lost dream of the lover

who once held a friend.

Mr. Dramatic remains the victor

of the game never played,

and the leader, reflectively,

of a plan not made, foundations not laid,

a great debt not paid…

…to oneself amid the static

in the attic,

as Mr. Dramatic stares from the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

Stillness in the Morning

There’s a stillness in the morning,

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then an intake of breath.

The songs they sang

keep coming back,

with no sound in the room,

the cool change finally came,

albeit a little too soon.

The painting is not completed yet,

when sensible he knows it is true,

but when he looks upon the walls,

the colors change their hue.

He’ll deal with it as always,

having been through worse before,

but he would like to see the woman

upon opening the door.

The jester gets carried away sometimes

when handling himself,

like trying to hold your pants up

when you haven’t got a belt.

He’ll get a little better

when his intensity is felt,

but, meanwhile….

There’s a stillness in the morning

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then intake of breath.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

Mr. Dramatic and Modern Day Man

Who knows what is in store

for the modern day man.

Who strives to be normal

without knowing what that means.

What will come back to

the one who is poor from helping?

What hand will lay upon

his shoulder when his cries?

When will the peace come

of any kind at all?

When Mr. Dramatic makes an exit,

without a dramatic fall.

Where will the feeling start,

the beginning of great relief,

Where will the feeling end

with shaking of firm belief?

Why are those who do not know

the first to criticize?

Why does the collective voice of humanity

sound like a baby’s cries?

How? Is the biggest question

and the hardest one to answer.

How can you see the soul of the dance

without understanding the dancer.

Indeed.

____________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark