� Lyric Rose ~ 2/26/2006
Teach me the art of brevity,
to say it simply,
concisely and to the point.
Well-chosen words in the moment,
without thought to roll off the tongue.
Clearly defining statements,
no ceaseless torrents with endless explanations.
Uncomplicated, rational and then be done!
But instead in my passion
I�m compelled to share
all my emotional response.
All my thoughts, my insights,
contemplations,
so many trails
most people just get lost.
I�d be better if I�d just say nothing.
Close my mouth, lock it up, destroy the key.
But as yet there is no such invention.
Is there anything to help me?
Am I destined to choke on my foot?
For in my mouth it is most of the time!
Could you send me a daily reminder?
Engage your brain before your tongue unwinds!
Yes my tongue is an unruly master,
little monster that hides in my lips.
Breaking loose without any warning,
only thing he is good for is a kiss.
Wish I had a removable option
and a box to keep him in my purse,
worn only in special performance
and be sure he was well rehearsed.
All these years you would think I�d get better,
that my tongue and I learned the great art.
Communication is a language always changing,
we are it�s pupils until we depart.
For the tongue is an evil unabstaining,
you can tame a tiger but you can�t tame the tongue.
� Lyric Rose ~ 2/15/2006
Caged,
held captive
from life,
by forces
beyond defense.
Her talents,
written
on walls
for no one to see.
Circumcised
by her innocence
in love.
Powerless
to defend
against the weapons
of men
who despise themselves
but scorn others
in shame.
She retreats
into strain
and her tenderness
turns to stone.
She chisels his image
to abhor and shutter
at his shadow
cast in it's wake.
Her art
grows depth
with each new
poisonous cause
upon the days
of her life.
Adding
brilliant color
to a canvas
stretched by hands
that have kept
her restraint.
Ignorant
of the treasure
to be found.
But covetous
rage
buries deeper
her soul.
Will her music
ever be heard?
She cannot
walk alone,
for she is
crippled and lame.
A victim
of their demise.
Covered
in their
putrid vomit,
left to die.
What injustice
shall be undone?
Can no one see
through the lies?
Where the artists sleeps
is obscure
but not in darkness!
There is no care
for these things.
Beauty
too shall pass.
And this art
in silence
shall die,
never knowing
that she lived.
� Lyric Rose ~ 12/30/2005
Dirty window pains
reflect faces of children
playing with legos
on stacked boxes
marked with names
rewritten
too many times to read.
A figure stands~
the curtain moved
slight by her peering;
nervously waiting,
anticipating,
but not expecting
for her comforting
to come.
The shadows
reached on the walls
grew long
and the legos
left on their boxes
built on fugitive dreams
stood lonely
with the figure
at the window
now shrinking
in her unrest.
He would be home soon
and the impending
thought
that left her
peering
at the dirt
resting
on the pain
of glass, kept staring
back at her reality
as she waits.
� Lyric Rose ~ 2/26/2006
What's inside of me?
Delicate lace,
intricately woven
full of grace.
Soft and gentle kisses
that touch your face.
Take away your disgrace.
Like beautiful figurines
blown from glass,
brilliantly colored
as sunlight runs passed.
They will paint your mind.
A Rembrandt so fine.
Most defined
and fragile of all
where no one can see,
compassionately
my heart opens wide,
there's so much inside
that no one can find.
It's hid by these walls.
They stand like guards,
like an army at war
with a world in corruption,
bent on destroying my life.
They stand up and fight.
They can't make it right.
Year after year
it comes perfectly clear
that the battle has built up a fortress
that serves to imprison me
behind it's great walls.
I can't break them down.
And dying inside is a delicate maiden
who intricately waits
to be painted with sunlight,
a Rembrandt so fine,
so fragile a kind.
And older with years
she's surrounded by tears
and the walls have made dim
as less sunlight runs in
and the colors of hope
are just blown from the glass
that's now shattered in pieces,
left laying there broken
no sorrows surpass.
What's left on the inside
so delicately laced
moves in the shadows of grace
as she waits.
That's what's inside.
That's what you'll find.
� Lyric Rose ~ 12/24/2005
Having you
inside my life
makes it hard
for me to breathe.
I�m constantly
inside myself
with heavenly
reprieve.
I gaze into
your eyes
so clear,
into your soul
I see.
I feel a stir
so wonderful,
confused,
inside of me.
I stop
to wonder,
in hope
amazed,
that dreams
have broken fears.
And all these years
you�ve come
to me
to take me
from my
tears.
� Lyric Rose ~ 1/29/2006
Shallow!
Drops of water
in steele buckets.
The sound
of your empty heart.
Numb,
like Novocain.
Should I have envy?
Do you feel pain?
Trophies
lined on shelves.
Collections
proud to view.
Anything more
than skin under you?
Dimes like dozens,
not hard to find.
What your thinking,
your something,
one of a kind.
Headline flash,
jolt,
ego splash!
You got nothing
remotely interesting
under that hat.
Your gray
don�t matter,
just empty space.
Not a very
meaningful contribution
to the human race.