THE VOICE

 

The evil lies within.

Each of us has the voice.

The voice enticing us to be bad.

It offers suggestions for revenge.

Immoral ways to succeed.

It never sleeps.

It appears in our nightmares.

Forever ready to lead us

down dark pathways.

Always on the hunt for

new followers.

We don’t have to feed it.

But let it starve.

PLAY ME A SONG

“Self Portrait with a Harp” (1791) (detail) by Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (1761-1802).

 

Play me a song.

Don’t get me wrong.

 

I love your singing voice,

But the harp is my choice.

 

The music soothes my sad soul

From the day taking its toll.

 

I need the music today.

Please sit down with me and play.

THE VOICE

 

 

 

The evil within.

We all have that voice inside.

The voice enticing us to be bad.

Offering suggestions of revenge.

Immoral ways to succeed.

It never sleeps.

It appears in our

dreams and nightmares.

Forever ready to lead us

down dark pathways.

Always on the hunt for

new followers.

We don’t have to feed it.

Let it starve.

WRITE ME A MELODY

piano

Sing me a song.

Write me a melody

Of times gone by

And moments lost in time.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

Until I hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

Stories of faraway​ places

And times that are long gone.

I close my eyes.

I can still hear your words.

I can see your fingers

Stroking the black and white.

Your words have taken flight.

They reverberate through time.

They have left your lips

To land on mine.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song

​To wipe away my empty tears.

AFTERNOON DELIGHT

1 Fantasies are a way of life

“Come back to me my sweet.
Take a break from the heat.
An afternoon in a cool retreat.
We could make our own special heat.”
The wood door rattles and creaks open wide.
I hesitate before I walk inside.
The small room is as dark as night.
I begin to tremble with fright.
Maybe I should leave this place.
The door slams shut in my face.
I hear the voice in the air
Telling me, “what fair is fair.”
I intruded on this secret room,
​And so I won’t be leaving too soon.

THE VOICE

 

The evil within.

We all have that voice inside.

The voice enticing us to be bad.

Offering suggestions of revenge.

Immoral ways to succeed.

It never sleeps.

It appears in our

dreams and nightmares.

Forever ready to lead us

down dark pathways.

Always on the hunt for

new followers.

We don’t have to feed it.

Let it starve.

TIME TO PLAY

Puppet Master 2 (1991)

 

What do I see at night

when I wake from sleep?

A puppet coming alive,

on the shelf in my room.

It creaks.

It groans.

Its head spins around.

It can’t be real.

It’s a wooden puppet.

No one to pulls its strings.

Until it speaks.

In a deep voice.

It can’t be alive.

Until it says,

“Time to play.”

I run to the door.

It can’t be.

It’s standing before me.

Taller than me.

Arms reaching to me.

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.