Music
         Permeates
                          Cells
Muscles
              Contracts
                             Euphoria
Enveloping
                  Souls
                        Do dance

dream of lilies,
blues and whites
in their little islands,
flower of the starlight,
flower of the water.

i

This is for thou both miss Vicki, and miss Beth Stclair, true poet's
Miss Beth StClair, thy sonnet style, brings back the old smile I see;
Miss Vicki, writing of love so quickly, so beautifully inspiring
Miss beth, thy word's got me flying I'll buyeth thy book real soon.

ii

Miss Vicki, thou art an old soul made of gold, a home amongst homes, as thou liveth in mine state, miss beth, I'd seeith thee if I go to England, amongst the Beatle street's we'll speaketh of ourn living's, and reciteth sonnet's of Shakespearian knowledge.

iii

Miss Vicki, thy jargon is wrapped like a bouquet, glazed with honey, thine words art displayed, people in this world like Thee I do prayeth, that thine life wilt be joyful, and harmonious in thy tommorrow, beth, I feeleth thine wild's, as the sixties thou hadst.

iv

Beth StClair, if it was back in the day, we'd be wonderful friend's, thou wouldst hath watched me on a stage, singing poetic thunder, miss Vicki, when thou feeleth down and under, continue to write thy creator in thy works, and I promise thou both, thou both hath

A friend in me......





©Brandon nagley
©Miss Vicki/miss Beth StClair dedication for both of you (:::::
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I remember my sweet mother
Crying as my brother went off to war
As the train pulled out of the station
She whispered, have mercy on him Lord

If memory serves best it's been 10 years past
If not less or more
Time means nothing when your just a kid
And there's no one there keeping score

Moms been crying since she heard the news
Guess she can't wait to have him home
I've been reading up on what brothers do
Since he left when I was young

Mom she had me dress up real nice
Wouldn't want him to think any less of me
Hope he has stories of his daily fights
And that he shares them all with me

I tell my mother I think I see the train
As tears well up in her eyes
I hold her hand as best I can
At 14, don't need no reason why

As the train pulls up in front of us
There's soldiers there to salute
Guess my brother is a hero
But that's something this kid already knew

The war that day replaced my brothers smiling face
With that of a Flag draped box
One of the soldiers said something to mother
As she whispered, Lord have mercy on us

I never did get to hear all the stories
Though I talk with him all the time
As I try and make it daily
To his grave up on the hillside
While my mother sits home and cries

Within the confines of the eyelids
the entire cast of life is present
the show that has gone on for these 66 years
that's the show I have the privilege to watch

Privilege might seem a strange word to be used
there were
just as in any other life
the bad times
these were the times I learned the hard way
these were the lessons that had to be remembered
they're the ones that have brought me safely to where I am

You wonder about the good times
those memories are being played on the screen as well
they're the times that gave me a break from learning
everyone needs a break from time to time from the hard lessons

A person will never build the strength without the hard times
to survive in the real world you gotta understand real
and real doesn't come from playing and pretending

Ultimately, it takes all of ones life to make a person who they are
the bad times will always come along with the good
it's the balance of them that makes the difference

The good times
the play
the pretending
can build a body
the outside of a person
and make us physically able

But it is those hard lessons
the bad times as many see them
that builds the inside
the heart and mind
the intestinal fortitude if you wish
that teaches a person how to survive

Children will often play with fire
they are usually told of the danger
an easy lesson has been presented
but the danger never seems to be real
until they are burned by the flame

To learn the hard lessons of life is not often fun
but it is those lessons that protect us from future pain