Stories of fiction

Tales of fact

Disallowed thoughts

Incomplete acts

From strokes of color

On canvases of white

To the whispers of the wind

On the rides of my life

The sound of feet

Vibrating & playing with the sound

The music I could have learned

Another avenue to some bliss that could have been found

For the things I could have done,

For the things I can still do

For things that beckon still – not too late

I sit and list

All the things I could have made:

Memories in a big bowl of timely experience

Visions to actions unhampered by conscience

Music to make you cry

Song to help you describe

I could have made trouble

Brewing in a secret, secret place

I could have made love

& given my rhymes a happy taste

I could have made time for a language

that’ll drip from the mouth a bit wrong and misdone

I could’ve made a night of dancing

All in the name of unregrettable, thoughtless fun

I could have made up

Stories that books would tell

Of earth, of heaven, of hell

I could have participated in

All the games life had to offer

And I would have passionately played

To at last complete all the things

In this list that has been made.


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