What, I write songs too? Part XV

The last time I posted a song on here back in November, I made musings about being a lyricist. I think this song exemplifies my strengths and weaknesses in songwriting. As I mention in the video, it’s about nostalgia – my first eighteen years of existence in about six minutes. I played it with Bill on violin in Hong Kong, and we decided that it needs a violin playing harmonics and a cajon. Those to come later. Right now I’m trying to polish all of my compositions and decide which are truly album worthy. Already I’m looking ahead to a full length album though Foreign Skies isn’t yet complete. I want the opportunity to record professionally; I want to begin my next recording session better prepared. I may even write out my songs in staff notation (what!?). At any rate, enjoy this first one, and do let me know your thoughts.

Forever and a Day

A bag of Lender’s bagels at the end of the row,
In the grocery store,
Raisin cinnamon for sixty nine cents.
Father said remember fifteen years ago,
And although he’s no more,
I’ll see them clear for many years hence.

The promise of adventure ‘neath the oaken glade,
Spanish moss trailing low,
She beckons with delight in her smiles,
So pretty at me across the creek in the shade,
This place that only we know,
Evergreen in our hearts all this while.

I seek her hiding somewhere in the bushes around,
The Unitarian ground,
I find her once but never again.
We scrawl dirty mad libs in the back of a van,
A scroll and bow in our hands,
And nothing was impossible then…

When we knew we’d last forever and a day,
In endless games of hide and seek.
Though trails and streams so surely wear away,
That dappled smile still warms my cheeks.

Glistening with peace in the sweltering air,
Slightest breeze on bare skin,
Chalked fingers brush a cool bulge of stone.
Power and grace dancing skyward to where,
I call exultant to him.
He joins me there and I’m not alone.

The soft rush of water in the coy pond below,
Fifteen stories of space,
I tremble in her warm winter grip.
A questioning glance sets her brown eyes aglow,
Half a moon on her face,
Cast in shadow with the meeting of lips.

Where we knew we’d last forever and a day,
In endless fields of scree and bliss.
Though winter moonlight quickly ebbs away,
No tide can wash the sweetness from that kiss.

The scent of green apple in the flow of black hair,
Awar with cinnamon red,
They tug me ’round the billiard hall.
Coy smiles belie our game of cutthroat, aware
Of the duress in my head.
We take up our cues and lose all.

Butterflies flit through the forest above.
Her nervous shimmering eyes,
Speed the beat of my heart in her hand.
Shadowed white walls embrace our stories of love,
And our fumbled goodbyes,
She smiles a parting writ in the sand.

Still I knew we’d last forever and a day,
In endless games of pool charades.
Though brilliant wingbeats swiftly turn to gray,
The soft warmth of her fingers never fades.

A bag of Lender’s bagels at the end of the row,
In the grocery store,
Raisin cinnamon for sixty nine cents.
Father said remember fifteen years ago,
And although he’s no more,
I’ll see them clear for many years hence.

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