I wrote She Asks Me Why several months ago. The infamous lyricist and poet Colin Laffey read the poem and was inspired. This is what he came up with below. He's still working on an official title. Hope you enjoy it.
She asked me why
I spoke my mind
without hesitation.
Questions fill
my mind as well.
I said something cliché
about hearts on sleeves,
but it goes much deeper
Than that.
She asked me why
I felt the need
to cry sometimes.
I wanted to tell
the truth; that sometimes
I'd rather die an unnecessary,
teenage-angst death rather than
wait for a Midwest Summer
in December.
But her Impossible Love
spins circles around
my tongue. And I say,
"It will pass."
She asked me why
I hate him. I said something
about absurdity
and happiness.
But it goes much deeper
than that.
She asked me why
I am not the kind of guy
I used to be.
I wanted to speak
of her obsessions
and addictions
to love and other drugs.
I wanted to speak
of cold Julys and
a catcher in the rye.
I wanted to speak
of dead heartthrobs
and dying hearts.
But her Untouchable Face
is blurred in my head,
and it's been too many months
since it smiled at me.
She asked me why
I fell asleep behind
The Wheel.
Had I heard her,
I would have said
something about
late nights and mental fist fights,
procrastination and towel throwing,
circles and cycles,
blurred eye sight and shaking hands,
but now I know
that prayers are not promised;
that some are caught
by gulls and clouds and kites
and glide, rain, or crash
to the ground.
Oh, but what I'd give
to see you one more time.
She asked me why
I loved her so.
There was something about
the way she used
to take my hand when
things went wrong;
the way lighthouses
shined down around her;
the way birds sang
a new song;
and the way my heart
beat faster.
But I said something like
"I just don't know."
No comments:
Post a Comment