My Brother

Your father is not mine
My mother is yours
We grew up in the same house
Your eyes are blue
Mine brown
We shared the same dreams
and nightmares
You carried yours
As a concealed weapon
hidden
Mine on my sleeve
A rebel flag
fully exposed
You ran with the wind at your back
chasing the demons away
I sailed with the wind in my face
as if being chased by the demons
You moved west
out of your comfort zone
I moved back east
where I felt at home
We both left the past behind
Never looking back
but never letting go
...I think of you often my brother

© 2015 TrilbyYates 

Umbrella Of The 2nd Amendment

It all seems very 
inconsequential 
relevant to only a few
in the moment
perception wrapped 
in a bloody cloth 
carried around 
in a shoulder bag 
right side of the cause 
and you will weep 
for your neighbor 
kiss the ground 
you stand on
thankful your home
remains in tact
people in glass houses 
shouldn't throw stones
stray bullets with an agenda 
manifesto magnifico 
wont change your mind 
one dimensional devotee
in the name of all that is divine 
father, son, and holy ghost
while Mother Mary works
her magic in disguise  
old school way of thinking 
solid, stead fast and free
but when the winds shift
a quick turning of the tide
and you find yourself
kneeling at the feet 
of the forgiven
soulful and sanctimonious
your child's heart pounding 
hands trembling
looking deep into
innocent eyes 
pupils dilated clear and wide 
do you whisper softly 
I promise everything will be OK
I promise everything will be fine
we are protected and gun dependent
under the umbrella of the 2nd amendment?

© 2015 TrilbyYates
 

Comedy Is In The Tragic

A cast of characters parade and dance with delight
Sabotage the plot skewed view of how the story could go
Should go but didn't...or did it?
Questions from the observer, birds eye view
Critics words strewn about from an avant garde status
Wrapped in the warm glow of stained glass 
Yet frigid to an intruders touch
Red, blue, yellow, green sunlight splashes of color
Altering the image, altering the direction 
Of the one true artist
Pliable to our own will 
- but not with the purity of a creative source
Not with the purity of the creative intention 
- more or less a reactionary split
When the casting call went out the Princess and Vagabond stroll
Consideration to one and all - equal opportunity G.O.D. employer
But the villain wears an uncanny disguise
And Beelzebub as we now recognize - The comedy is in the tragic
The comedy is in the things we can't see
And you won't marry me because I am you
…and that is against your faith 
You can't touch me because your reflection burns
So you watch and wait...smoldering sizzle
While our child drowns in the vast public view
And no one was watching - do you believe me?
Now and then we cop a plea, we plead the fifth
And hold the Constitution up 
Because it can't stand on its own
To an immoral high standard, higher than this life we cherish
Higher than each breath we take, exhale slowly
It only hurts the first time
This life as we now know it is not for the faint of heart
Made up of a multitude of choices 
and of ones own choosing
And if not of your choosing
But because of circumstance or a feedback loop
Remember somehow - it will always bring you home 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Red Dress And No Shoes

You want a happy ending just like everyone does
but that isn't always the way the story goes
when it's a page turner and the punch line at the end
leaves you empty handed and a bit  more aloof
words fall flat and I'm left in your silence

...and I'm standing at the corner flower shop
wearing a red dress and no shoes
and I can't remember why I came here
and can't remember how to get home

It has been a long time since we crossed paths
and sometimes it's the length of time
that soothes the wounds and heals broken dreams
not a heart bending string broken absence of emotion
spending too much time on my own - too much time alone

...and I'm standing at the corner flower shop
wearing a red dress and no shoes
and I can't remember why I came here
and I can't remember how to get home

Doesn't really matter that much
when all that passes for good looks is a cheap imitation
my lack of sentiment my short falls and my limitations
victims need an advocate and I need a priest
nothing can touch me when I'm standing this high on the wall
and nothing can catch me when I lose my footing and begin to fall

...and I'm standing at the corner flower shop
wearing a red dress and no shoes
and I can't remember why I came here
and I can't remember how to get home
I spend too much time in the shadows
I spend too much time alone
and I'm standing at the corner flower shop…

© 2015 TrilbyYates