The Painter’s Dilemma

Too many self portraits deface a soul
And I’m but a painter with too few to paint
All I see is the same in all of my models
The same variations on different taints

I once was a painter who looked up at great heroes
And secretly hoped that one day I would be
A sculpter of clay such that conquers all battles
And somehow of that clay I could recreate me

But now all I see are the base imperfections
That block out my way to what could never be
I can paint over, but always corrections
Can never be true when truth is just me

Basilisk

What claim can Cupid’s arrows have
To have triumphed through your armor
When you with but a devil’s laugh
Can lay waste to they who harbor
Such weapons as might penetrate
Your skin of sorrow and of scale
And with a look you seal their fate
Wrapping them in stony mail
Never more to strike at you
With beauty and with song
Never more to bid adieu
To the moments they were strong
There is only weakness now
Brittle, gray and dull
But if your eyes could only life allow
They would be fairest of them all.

Futile

I could call upon the storm:
The wind, the piercing rain.
I could make a whirlwind form,
But I would do it all in vain.

I could call upon the sky:
Watch the flash as thunder plays.
I could raise the waters forest high;
But I couldn’t turn back all the days.

I can’t call upon the clock
To hide its face and yours;
Moments pass, each with a lock,
To shut all open doors.

And I could call upon your name
As a plea or as a chant for war,
But there’s nothing there for me to claim
Except a broken heart forevermore.

Contagion

You don’t understand
And I can’t explain
‘Cause inside I’m terrified
Of spreading my pain

I’m standing inside
As you dance in the rain
One of us loves life
The other one just loves the pain

There are moments like this
When I think of that day
The day you were leaving,
But you turned just to say

That you don’t understand
How I waste every day
As if I’m too terrified
To find one single ray

You were my sunshine
Now you only see rain
One of us loved life
The other one clings to the pain

Rose Colored Glasses

Did you lose them on a walk?
Did you drop them down a well?
Come, my dear fool, talk!
We’ll find out where they fell.

Did you lend them to a friend?
Did they crunch beneath your boot?
It must’ve been an ignoble end
For you’ve turned into a mute!

What, did you lose them to a vat of rum?
Were they stolen by a ghost named Fred?
You needn’t look so vexed for them —
They’re there upon your head!

Tourniquet

I don’t want your little war;
I have my own to fight.
Still you battle on, but man, what for?
There’s no end for you in sight.
You make up reasons for the blood to pour;
I just want to pull the tourniquet tight,
And cling to the symbols on my uniform
As I wait and watch my waning might.