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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