Thinking In Bed


Maybe there’s another land where I belong,
My people waiting asking what took me so long.
Or maybe the other land is filled with people just like here,
Who change and shift and really don’t like to be near.


Maybe there’s another land,
Where husbands talk
And never command.
Maybe there is love so dear,
It could dry all rains
With its single tear.


A land where beds are filled with respect.
No matter the external
Love see’s through
And loves all internal.


In that land would I be able to talk?
In that land would a hand hold mine as I walked?
But in this land I walk alone
Bowing and kowtowing to selfish
loves external demand.


So wishful thinking
Of what lands of loves exist
I’ve made my bed and can only wish;
To be seen for who I am
To be loved for all that I am
To be nurtured and fulfilled
What empty hope
in a love so stilled.


So do my chores
And bow to guilt,
Of others needs so wanton sort.
I’ll start my day tomorrow.
because theirs begins today.
I’ll pretend I know nothing,
Until I believe in what they say.


I’ll put away my strengths.
I’ll put away my voice.
As they like to say too often,
I do nothing else but talk.


What empty lands!
What barren lands!
Wishful thinking,
Is all that is in my hands

I’ll not concentrate on any of needs
Instead I’ll drop everything and in an instance
Become your designated point of call
Always there at your beck and call.


But in the end why search for love in another,
Why search for an almost perfect lover?


The game is up,
There is no other.
It’s been a joke!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Fuck you brother!


So now I’m asked to show to the world.
What perfect love when all is spoiled.
“Oh yes aren’t we are happy. Isn’t our life grand?”
How lucky we are!
To have spoiled all of this beautiful land.


Nature’s garden is left evergreen
Nothing is tended.
love is scorned.


Another episode of giving to another,
Another time wasted I may not get another.
So I’ll die and leave nothing behind,
Because everyone’s wishes;
We’re more important than mine


-The Artist