Why do you cry
for him who was meant to die?
Why do you mourn,
He should never have been born.
(c) Tyrone Terrence
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Man In Black
Time passes when you're not looking
Sneaky bastard, he sneaks past you.
He lurks in ambush, plotting,
Scheming, he's up to no good
Take heed, look over your shoulder
He swears to catch up with you.
The wind blows, green leaves fall
Hurry home as the night falls
Do you hear footsteps in the dark?
Did the tree sigh as you walked by?
He passes when you're not looking
That man in black- here he comes.
(c) Tyrone Terrence
Sneaky bastard, he sneaks past you.
He lurks in ambush, plotting,
Scheming, he's up to no good
Take heed, look over your shoulder
He swears to catch up with you.
The wind blows, green leaves fall
Hurry home as the night falls
Do you hear footsteps in the dark?
Did the tree sigh as you walked by?
He passes when you're not looking
That man in black- here he comes.
(c) Tyrone Terrence
Remedy
Pass me the pain killer
That bottle of Bacardi
To dull this aching heart
This love is a migraine
(c) Tyrone Terrence
That bottle of Bacardi
To dull this aching heart
This love is a migraine
(c) Tyrone Terrence
Imperfectly Yours
In a perfect world
I'll tell you that I love you.
I'll tell you how beautiful you are;
I will not hesitate to say
how much you mean to me;
Because in a perfect world
there'll be no fear of rejection,
No games... no complications.
But this is not a perfect world,
And I am not a perfect man.
(c) Tyrone Terrence
I'll tell you that I love you.
I'll tell you how beautiful you are;
I will not hesitate to say
how much you mean to me;
Because in a perfect world
there'll be no fear of rejection,
No games... no complications.
But this is not a perfect world,
And I am not a perfect man.
(c) Tyrone Terrence
The Man Died
What happens when a dream dies?
Is there mourning,
Is there a requiem in heaven?
Or somewhere on earth;
In that place where dreams are born?
Are dreams conceived in the human heart?
Are they products of the mind;
the result of some ethereal fire
that burns within us?
Or are they the impossible longings
of an unquenchable spirit?
What happens when a dream is laid to rest-
Unfulfilled, cut short in its prime…
Umbilical chord becoming pallid
dangling impotently from the navel?
Does it feed on its famished soul?
Does it become a nightmare,
a gaping wound… a festering sore
that attracts huge green flies like
the bleeding ears of a mangy, rabid mongrel?
Does it chip away beneath the surface,
Unseen, overlooked by the human eye,
razing slowly, eating away
the life it nurtured for years?
Is it frightful to look upon a dead dream?
Does it keep one awake tossing and turning
till the wee hours of the morning?
And does relief come at dawn
in the realization it was only a dream?
What happens when you kill a dream?
Are you consumed by guilt?
Does the reproach destroy your peace?
Does it haunt you, or make you sober…
unable to eat or drink?
Is it a solemn occasion;
Does it beg a minute’s silence?
Do you fall on your knees and
pray for the repose of its soul?
Or do you wonder if you’re losing your mind
to think that dreams have souls?
Would you laugh at a dead dream?
Or force a smile to shrug off the unease?
Would you wave it aside by the slight of hand?
Or turn away to more important things?
Would you die if you lose your dream?
Would you wither like a beautiful red rose
Severed from the stem, a gift for a lover?
Or would you insist t’was nothing but a dream?
Did you die when your dream died?
Was there a reflection in
the mirror when you walked by?
Like a runaway steam engine
did the coal burn itself out,
grinding your life to a halt?
Did you know you were dead when you died?
Or did the value of the moment sail right by?
And now you look at your headstone and wonder,
When did the decay set in?
(c) Tyrone TerrenceMay 2009
Is there mourning,
Is there a requiem in heaven?
Or somewhere on earth;
In that place where dreams are born?
Are dreams conceived in the human heart?
Are they products of the mind;
the result of some ethereal fire
that burns within us?
Or are they the impossible longings
of an unquenchable spirit?
What happens when a dream is laid to rest-
Unfulfilled, cut short in its prime…
Umbilical chord becoming pallid
dangling impotently from the navel?
Does it feed on its famished soul?
Does it become a nightmare,
a gaping wound… a festering sore
that attracts huge green flies like
the bleeding ears of a mangy, rabid mongrel?
Does it chip away beneath the surface,
Unseen, overlooked by the human eye,
razing slowly, eating away
the life it nurtured for years?
Is it frightful to look upon a dead dream?
Does it keep one awake tossing and turning
till the wee hours of the morning?
And does relief come at dawn
in the realization it was only a dream?
What happens when you kill a dream?
Are you consumed by guilt?
Does the reproach destroy your peace?
Does it haunt you, or make you sober…
unable to eat or drink?
Is it a solemn occasion;
Does it beg a minute’s silence?
Do you fall on your knees and
pray for the repose of its soul?
Or do you wonder if you’re losing your mind
to think that dreams have souls?
Would you laugh at a dead dream?
Or force a smile to shrug off the unease?
Would you wave it aside by the slight of hand?
Or turn away to more important things?
Would you die if you lose your dream?
Would you wither like a beautiful red rose
Severed from the stem, a gift for a lover?
Or would you insist t’was nothing but a dream?
Did you die when your dream died?
Was there a reflection in
the mirror when you walked by?
Like a runaway steam engine
did the coal burn itself out,
grinding your life to a halt?
Did you know you were dead when you died?
Or did the value of the moment sail right by?
And now you look at your headstone and wonder,
When did the decay set in?
(c) Tyrone TerrenceMay 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
