They sing, they all sing.

The choir sang

and the angels

made a crowd

to hear mortals

moan

All the sadness

and hope in this room

could sink battleships

you can tell the strong

from the weak

its in there song

and hidden behind the eye’s

and its hard to see

in the dim light

jazz cafe

My table, where i sat

was united cultures

of friendship

and a trinity

is a tripod

and an easier

leg to stand on

then one’s own

My head was pounding

and I left my body

and hid in the refined

confinement

that happens

when i have a headache

every day since i was seven

and thats not the pain

my people have felt

but my own

and very personal

imagine being a child

and trying to claw your eyes out

or asking your parents

to do it for you

throwing up

was sweet relief

and not the point

of defeat where

I once was drunk

taking hang overs

like heart aches

and moving on

what the Jazz Cafe

My head aches

and my parents

and even this poem

are yearning for

is a forgone conclusion

where there is none

and thats Why life is obscure

and you feel perturbed

when you have a lot to teach

but even more to learn

I lean left on an oreo

and right on a twinkie

and these junk foods

hold more substance

than a fancy meal

served by a snooty waiter

it has more soul

than stolen rock and roll

I have always made new friends

and lost touch with old ones

but we are all brothers

and sisters

How sweet freedom can be

when we allow ourselves to be free

how easy love is

when one drops there heart

dusts it off and runs full speed

into the daydreams

moving at such a high velocity

that it becomes reality

and we are all smiles

and thanks

The choir sings

there sweet escape

giving even more

than what they take.

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~ by Aumbeche Rishi on March 21, 2007.

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