The Sparrow Sound

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I've been away

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On a Sunday in a Cafe by the Sea

I had heard the stories of the man

While drinking strong coffee

On a Sunday in a cafe by the sea

I knew he’d told them all before

And sometimes to himself

Stories of forlorn escapades

And the quiet passions of his wife

His expressions were engaging

So the other two men laughed

From across the yellow room

The bearded man caught my eye

And as I looked straight at him

I thought of you and

How you make me scream

In the middle of the night

And at the wrong time of the day

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texas. 

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a summer beach in the dead of winter

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a life gone by

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waiting for a lover in the rain as the sun and moon begin to trade places...  

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I live in a box of paints

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You came to tell me

You came to tell me

That I had always loved you

I knew it was true

So, I argued

It isn’t that simple

When you speak poetry

Of the night

Without hesitation

You talked softly to say

The life is not broken,

But our child is dead

I cried to watch you beside me

A little drunk and mostly stoned

I laughed at love’s misery

Realizing I was finally free

From the way he had loved me

I looked over at you like to say

Love is a pretty girl in the hot sun

On a cold Winter’s day

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The boy

The boy, he cried for you,

And for me, to lay within

The sullen seas

Dirtied by adultery

And treasures of liberty

That some how defined you

As being freer than me

Freedom, as you know

Is not you inside of me

It is our child finally free

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Could you choose?

If it was one, two, or three,

Could you choose?

It is the days that blur into nights

And Knights that find their way

In between foxes and the flowers

And endless hours

You go out to sea

To save the soldiers and sinners

From you, the apocalypse of me

Dirty and not kept

A runaway

You run to her

To save yourself for me

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Luckenbach, Texas

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Frozen in that bar

Memories of my little city

Frozen in that bar and your guitar

Poems, the ones you wrote for her

Played like songs to make me swoon

Drunk on pretty lies and blue eyes

You said that the truth doesn’t matter

When you’re naked in those trees

And in the snowy summer breeze  

I miss the seasons on the river

And you, sometimes 

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maybe sparrow.

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I'm tired of running round looking for answers to questions that I already know

blaze foley