Monday, May 10, 2010


My love is a rose, picked quietly at dawn, as people rise from sleep and prepare for the commute to work.
I am beset with thoughts of you and how I wish to give you all I am able.
The highways and freeways of this metropolis are filled.
Drivers and passengers roll by as the necessities of life pull them forward.
The sun breaks through the clouds and illuminates the earth.
I wonder how you are. Are you thinking of me? Of the world outside?
Just another day, like any other, yet different somehow.
I want to talk with you. Will you accept me as a friend?
We can hold hands on the beach and let the people stroll past.
Or maybe catch a movie and discuss the story afterward.
The passage of time is a unique experience.
Artists and engineers alike attend to their projects and tasks.
Workers and vagabonds fill Los Angeles with their industry and diligence.
The sun stands apart from the moon.
And the sky is the canvas on which they paint with light.
I want to bask in your warmth, like a lizard in the summer heat.
You are bright and perceptive, strong and upstanding.
There are still songs to be sung and poems to be written of laughter, friendship and affection.
If you lead I will follow. If you follow I will lead.
There are yet roses to bloom and suns to emerge over the horizon.
School is the place to be. It’s where the stones keep rolling.
Everyone has a future. Where our journeys lead no one can say.
Will you roll with me? We can entwine our futures together for a time.
I want to know about you. What are your dreams and aspirations?
Do you look out your window at night and watch the stars sparkle?
The universe is vast. It is large enough for a thousand generations to explore.
Within the timeframe of nature this moment is ours to do with as we will.
A brush of lips upon the cheek. A whispered message into the ear.
I’m glad to see you today. I’m inspired by your presence.
Each person is set to pursue his or her own muse.
I face the gathering of the tribes with a message of love.
The pulse of the city pushes onward. The opportunity to connect is close.
It’s easy to become lost in the mesh of streets and buildings.
We are obligated to survive, to move above the urban sprawl.
These roads were built for us to team up and create art against the drive of anonymity.
Art and craft are what remains when all is said and done.
We are the teachers of those who will come next.
The young will look to us for their own styles and motifs.
They will be guided by our time, this lasting minute.
Thus the torch of art is passed from one era to the next.
All these words wrapped into a digital disk for the millennia.
Perhaps an unknown alien will compile the world’s artistic material.
And the flora and fauna of our planet encapsulated in a great spatial exodus.
I believe there will still be roses and people to share them.
Love remains a lasting force despite the rigidity and homogeneity of contemporary society.
Something remains in the passing cars and trucks, the school buses and trains.
It is a will to resist cultural mechanization and industrialization.
Freedom of expression is essential and the challenge is ours to maintain it.
Love cannot be regulated by our work ethic or fluctuating economy.
Love is here to stay and will not be stamped out by anyone.


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