When young every lung of air set song fair to the wind.. ballads.. blues.. an artist news and words of way he been..
Clear eyed never feared tides or acts of pride.. meaning found past ‘Blank St. off the alley’ ancient Gods cried..
Round about a shout of nothing circled back and back again.. primal fear a flag and words of war from greedy men..
Each in worry fails to bury.. see or even try.. find life glory.. tears and story of who lived and died..
Me? to see a moment is a gift I cannot give.. fate.. my mate.. the artisan in the art I live..
Song and poem I stand alone smile.. fate as ocean tides.. round the corner.. in the colors.. seek another side..
Each as passing.. stern or sassing is first only true.. I wait my fate that comes in what needs be for me and you..
As bright colors bright that light the dark night.. show a way.. I give each second what I can.. different in static stay.,.
May you bless.. respect protect and play your heart and dream.. may you wise in fine surprise slide harmless down moonbeams..
Create as fate in every second beckons on anon.. to places no one judges.. no one lost.. as none say won..
‘Blank St. off the alley’.. is TV life and more.. puppet strings.. zircon rings.. and someone to deplore..
Star you are in every way.. in every place.. each time.. part of you.. and what must be.. infant.. old and prime..
‘Life,, you wonderful gift fated.. I stand ready with my best’..