Why For You

fallen ballerina

 

I thought I could trust you

I gave my all to you

Layed out my heart to you

Sacrificed my time for you

My limited life for you

Lay down and died for you

But now I see you

For who you are, yes you

And you used me, yes you

All this time did you

After all this time I think of you

And finally I wonder,

“How did I ever love you?”

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It’s Summer In New York City

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It’s summer in New York City

The sun is shining bright

Nonstop movement from dusk to twilight

The skyline gives shape to the night

Listen to the sounds of the city

The ice cream truck with it’s jingles

A scream, a holler

Patalitos for a dollar

The roar of low flying copters

And jets bringing people

In and out of this city

Hear the tunes of the subway

Someone struming his guitar on one platform

As on another someone plays smooth jazz

Both starving artists

Each trying to pave his own way

See the sights of the city

The swing of the train around the bend

And the people inside sway together

All caught up in their own world

But together in this one car

Watch the people of the city

The spray of open fire hydrants

On hot sweaty children

As grannies talk gossip

And grandpas play dominos

With bachata playing softly in the background

People sitting in front of the deli

Talking news and politics

This is the way of the city

Lovers walk down the street

Pressed up against each other

As if they could never let go

Those on their porches watch them

And take another puff

Secretly judging them

But are to high to let them know

On days like this in the city

Everyone just moves so slow

The humidity could be cut with a knife

On days like this

You don’t hear any sirens

No one argues

Just the sound of music

The noise of the ACs

The movement of life everywhere

It’s summer in New York City.

Gray

Gray chalk

 

You ask me my favorite color

And I’ll tell you that it’s gray.

You mock me, “That’s ugly,

It’s not a color; ’tis only a shade.”

Unfortunately you don’t see

What I mean so I shall explain

Why to me it’s a color:

Why to me it isn’t passé.

Gray is the color of mornings

Long before the break of day,

The sky of humid afternoons

When its about to start to rain.

The wear of ancient rocks

Who’ve been there for an age,

The hair of aged people

Who watch children on the rocks play.

The iris’s of the children

Who dance in a joyful way,

Cause they needn’t remember

Whether to spell it gray or grey.

Of seals, of moving photography,

The last rain shower in May,

A stone cut chapel, little birds;

What more can I say?

It’s the emotion it evicts,

Not the actual color;

That’s why I like the color gray.

Wishful Thinking

Mountain star sky

 

Your head is lost in the clouds

I wonder when you will come down

But I think

That I’m fine

Watching you from here

 

Your eyes follow the stars

Tracing their paths from afar

And I

Just sigh

Observing you over here

 

 

Your voice sings of the unknown

Telling of fables and legends untold

How do I

Desire

To be just like you

 

Cause only if I could revive in another life

I would rise along with you and fly

But these chains tie me down to reality

Oh, how I long to be free

I do realize that all it’ll ever be

Is wishful thinking