solitude
The way you look tonight is playing in a loop,
While I have my cigarette break out on the stoop,
And the raindrops stage a tragedy on the window-sill,
While the city’s lights break the darkness over Clinton Hill.
In a romantic second I look up into the sky to see
how the stars break the dark and reflect so perfectly,
the melancholy that embraces solitude in gratitude
for the stars to shine light on its latitude.
But romance f-a-d-e-s
like the stars into the city’s glow.
And misery hits!
Just like a g——l——i——t—––c––––h
in the middle of the show.
Stars may shine
but are useless when they don’t
align.
So I wait
and stare
and hope
for the magic to reveal.
Playing my mind
to find
what the signs
may conceal.
Down here
in the real,
I’m trying
not to feel,
all that much,
while I heal
from that last
long lost touch.
And the way you look tonight starts over again,
and the rain falls harder and lower than
ever before.
And the drops
don’t stop
when they hit the floor,
but find another,
connect and melt.
And I can’t help
but remember
how that felt.
Is it hope or mere despair?
The feeling that I’m dying here to share?
It’s been too long
since it was dawn,
since I was drawn
to something other
than this song.
Too long
stuck in the dark,
and fucking fucked
with my numb heart.
But I just can’t read the signs!
Not up there,
not even down here,
––––––––––– So how should I draw the lines?–––––––––
My mind
stays
below
the atmosphere.
Astrology is too far
from here
and from now.
Those lights
are not the best guides,
they might not
even
be,
still.
While the drops
continue to fight
on the window sill,
Those sparks
don’t make a sound,
or leave marks,
on the ground
in the dark.
So forgive me,
I don’t want to embark,
leaving it all up to the stars.
But rather
be down here
and bother
my own mind,
think it through,
as if gone blind,
and let it sink in too!
I’ll walk through the dark
and find
this feeling
that just now has
––– slipped
my mind.
So I’ll stay here in my solitude,
with this very song in loop,
loop
because I know
there’s still time
to waste my youth.
And I’ll still grow,
and be fine
to face the truth.
Even Sinatra
has been in my shoes,
it’s been
in his song
all along:
In the end we all lose!
No matter how we twist and bend,
how far –––––––––
you stretch your fist or hand!
Every star
is but an image in our head.
When in truth already gone,
he and me and anyone
is only left with
a memory
and it’s ––––––––––––––– r-e-d-s-h-i-f-t.