the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

our song

i'm circling, not straying,
merely conveying woe
by closing my eyes
to claim "i'm lost again"
when all along i really
know where i'm going.

i know the song
and i'm singing it too,
and to whom.
alas, the tune
is to my heartbeat
which stammers.

for if i had a hammer
i'd hammer it into you
and make-believe
i made you believe
that you knew all the words
by staggering heart too.

oh, i wish i knew
the answer to everything
was adieu and erasing
me from your memory,
but that crass reply
was only a cry a-baiting.

waiting is such a cruel
phenomenon, when part one
of the duo already knows
his parts, knowing, her stops,
and his starts, naturally provide
the melodic tempo that is
euphonious and sublime.

it is only her strumming
fingers now which
are missing from
from this charming life
of rhythm, verse, and rhyme.

and it is solely time
that will show us how
our song will be sung.

the art of living the art of living the beginning the art of love the art of love

legal l.m