Lay little boy lay

It was dark that night with the whisper in the trees and the wind beneath his knees. Stretched out on the road he laid waiting for the proposal of his enemies. He had a nervous stomach with his clinching palms around his neck. Granted by the owls and the raccoons he laid for days. Muttering the various words that brought him there. Combining them into sentences humming them as if he was on stage. Dancing on his back, loving towards the stars. The neighbors knew him so they let him. He thanked them from his hand, as a wave to the crowd of animals. He was wearing his rags that were worn and torn. His thoughts became his visions on the night blue skyline. The car lights created spot lights on his musical make believe podium. He sang the words high and low playing the parts for both. He never questioned the time or the day, he would just lay and lay and lay. No blankets or pillows those were for the comfort needing little boys. He never stood or walked for days. Until one day when he suddenly shot to his toes and walked away. The neighbors came out in their robes and slippers walking to the sidewalk softly speaking to themselves the questions that have arose. With a glance he acknowledged the people nodding his head and waving he spoke the words "This town is yours and I have over stayed my stay so on this day I will get up from my lay and walk away." Turning to the crowd with his bow he disappeared into the leaves of the trees and every year on that day you can hear him when the setting sun sets. The animals come out and play there instruments in honor of the little boy who laid.  

Love It

Don't waste it away in your cubical

This is more like a musical

Don't lose sight of the way of the dreamers

This is what the sleepers live for 

Don't tell me all about it

This is a show and tell class

We don't want to hear the sound of the drum

We don't want to hear the sound of the drum

Giving me something to brag about

Making anything able to laugh about

Watching everything on the roundabout

Evacuating nothing to talk about

Little Soldier

And you were getting ready this morning

Teeth brushed and hair done

The closet walk took only three minutes 

Sewing the laces loop to loop

And I swear this time

The movie was watched from the sheets and the pillows

You could have tipped me over

And I'll hold this clover forever 

This deserves a record book qualification 

I'm crawling through this tiny hole

Be a good little soldier 

Put that backpack over your shoulder

This isn't another children story

Kiss the cross

We haven't yet won

The mystery is history

Never will this be a loss

And you sure did look like fun

No none

Build a fire and climb me higher

There is a tickle in my bones

I can't forget the telephone

Roll the letters down

This town is spent

It's time to chase the ground

Believable

Sincerity and the common ground we stand on becomes elegantly disruptive to the world all around. You feed me with the petty things in life and I close my eyes to the flowers. The things you sing are lullaby remedies that equally qualify to me. The motion of the ocean exercise commotion that cancels out this breach of peace. Jesus knows I should have died but instead He gave me this red lipstick boot wearing little squeeze. I think He gave us this chance to start over, turn over, and play a new sport. Please forgive me for the bank owned jobs they weren’t part of the master plan. I’ll whistle the love story to my children over a smokey campfire as if it was part of an age old tale with hidden messages and clues, making it a game that these children will love to play. Climb onto my arm i’ll fly you through the crowd. I can break the walls if we have no doors. I can be your eyes or your bones. We can tap our toes on the bathroom floor. Running, running, running above the ground. Oh what a lovely sound. Oh what a lovely sound, what a lovely sound, lovely sound, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely sound. Our memories will wear plastic sweaters keeping them fetching like souvenir letters. Did you think that I wouldn’t remember. You are a life size Tinkerbell marching towards my door. The sudden pressure change is the oxygen stolen from my lungs replaced with butterflies and jittery fireflies. Jitterally. This is a roller coaster that doesn’t have an end. There will be little floating ducks that win you nicely stuffed teddy bears, pony rides and a band it will be a bubbly good time. Oh we will shake the ground. It’s such a lovely sound.