When This Morning Becomes Yesterday

I used to listen to this,

it was called a New Age sound

Wyndam Hills label

I found myself compelled by

such simplicity,

a drug of sorts

because the music could not

take me places

i couldn’t go alone,

I felt there was someone with me,

all the time,

sitting at the keyboard

with a sweet smile

because he too

wanted some quiet,

but a purposeful journey

 

I’m struggling tonight,

because I’ve forgotten how to write.

I told a friend of mine,

I’d lost my words

and I couldn’t tell you where they’ve gone

traveling somewhere on their own,

waiting for the sound,

waiting for George,

he’ll repeat himself,

and there’ll be no carnage …

only sweet love.