Some days my heart feels better
Than it did the day before
But some days I still want you
And it's yesterday once more
I go out to join the laughter
But it's still a lonesome sound
When the smile's almost beginning
That old tear comes rolling down

I'M SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A TEARDROP AND A SMILE
GETTING OVER YOU WILL TAKE A WHILE
SEEMS MY HEART IS SLOWLY HEALING
BUT THEN I GET THAT OLD TIME FEELING
I'M SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A TEARDROP AND A SMILE

Tomorrow's overdue for me
But my yesterday dies slow
It wasn't easy finding you
It's harder letting go
Someday I hope I make it
But you're hard to leave behind
Just when a pretty girl comes by
You walk across my mind

CHORUS

BRIDGE:  At a party I'll feel good times on the way
                  Then my heart is touched by some old song they play...

CHORUS

Not such a bad place,
although it can take
many lifetimes
to get the hang of it.
  ~mce

In his seasons passing words wither and fade with the sunsets reprise.
These images paint portraits with grey backdrops tattered, twisted throwing stones across the pond only to hear them vanish in the dark waters below.

All the pretty flowers fully in bloom untouched by earth and unsoiled in the dirt of corruption of an existence lived in regret.
Bitter pills and torn pages have we not traded are truths to be lies created for are own protective womb of deceit to fulfill our ego.

All the pretty flowers wither just the same.
As standing skeletons left only to haunt the backdrop of our thoughts decay.

Are we not monsters?, Who once stood as men with great views whose vices consumed them turning us into something we can barely recognize ourselves.

Soil once fertile now seems only scorched a barren square of emptiness once were all things did grow.
All the pretty flowers mourn springs passing this concrete idealism for which no direction seems to suit us best.

I stand where here no longer will anything grow.

This poem will certainly be a big hit
I'm throwing everything I've got and more into it
All the bells all the whistles all my poetic tricks
Rolling up my sleeves, into my open palm I will spit

This poem I'm pulling out all of the stops
Remove the plug at the bottom, raise the roof at the top
Fill in the middle with all that I've got
Blowing it all on the entire lot

This poem will either make me or break me
Lose me or save me, I'm thinking maybe
They'll love me or hate me, all want to date me
In Mardi Gras beads they'll want to drape me

This poem will embarrass all the other poems
Because this one poem will have it all going on
From the time it's conceived to the moment it's born
All other poems will concede to it's throne

This poem may even bring on the end
All the poets of today will turn in their pens
They'll be to afraid to write anything
As it will be the blue print to how a poem's written

Now that last thoughts got me thinking that it shouldn't be wrote
As it being the only poem is a scary thought
And how this single poem could yield so much power
I'd be crazy to set it free to dispose and devour

All this poem could do has really opened my eyes
So on second thought I'm not going to write
I'll lock up that thought shut the door tight
Another poem at this time I'll just have to find...