The band played well. But no one cares... Music cases hauled upstairs. People trying to make dreams With sweat and blood and reams Of set lists and of lyrics fine And no one has more than a dime. We make the sounds, oft crude or crass And sometimes we smoke grass.
The trees will sometimes talk with me Each has a story, don't you see Some stand up tall, and some are small On some the vines do cast a pall They struggle fiercely to survive And if they can, they'll fiercely thrive And seek and find the Sun and air As they climb a skyward stair.
The band played well No one to tell This emptiness can feel like hell. Abandoned on a lonesome sea Drinking my last cup of tea The pot is full, too much is there For here's no one with whom to share So many news Must be unsaid Except perhaps when we are dead. To be alone is harder still When loneliness was banished 'til It all came rushing back like tides Left behind, I cannot hide The fact that emptiness is where Once I had such cheer.
The band played well. But no one cares... Music cases hauled upstairs. People trying to make dreams With sweat and blood and reams Of set lists and of lyrics fine And no one has more than a dime. We make the sounds, oft crude or crass And sometimes we smoke grass.
I try to write my verses They never come out right. I do not use the AI To set my words down right. I am left so far behind By creators left and right. Their verses so much better Than anything I write. All I have is doggerel That's lost amongst the weeds The flashy AI produced stuff Is what they want to read. So I sit back, left far behind, the crippled child of woe. The Piper Pied leads others on To magic lands And golden sands That's where they all do go.
I'm trying to write a poem. It's taking quite the time. I'm wrestling with every word, re-reading every line. One of my great problems is, it's tough to make it rhyme.
The Butterfly returns Wings stronger than before The tall impressive barriers Have now become mere doors Joyful in her strength Free flier dancing with a bee Dipping diving dancing freely High above the sea.
It's difficult for me to say These things in any other way. The ai cannot help me here, my doggerel's all I have I fear. My shyness keeps heart's thoughts unspoken, known perhaps from this shy token. Descried in silences not words, bridged by flight of lonely birds. The butterfly must rest at times, before returning to the skies. Alight with care, disturb the pollen, flex and dry obsidian wings. Catch the Sun-warmed breeze, and solemn, rise to heights above despair. These are mysteries and things, cutting blades make fragile wings.
