The Writer In Me by Walter Jones

Down in the dumps walks from sun to moon
Riverfront gives way to a room by the hour
Child of the evening takes her toll and leaves
Sad relent takes the mind on one last trip bad drug

Daddy said he drank but a few reach for bottle
We all sing by the barrel a bit of dow-op-boop

Sandman spread and made the drug of life sing
Special in his own world he brought life to the street
Voice set to the tap and the cry of voices in the night
Dandy and flesh all a part of shuck and jive lives

Man sings as the hero plays the song of living
Sat at the piano bar and sang every song he knew

Skip in the feel of trying to be just like I was
Then again I was my son and I was in love with me
A place by the way feel the good life and I know
It was not the money nor was I the show of winning

People claim she was the reason I live smiles past
She was the reason I lived the life of a happy man

She is the reason the band plays as we waltz the floor
As the last of the play starts to end she hold me with a kiss
Heart as good as gold never to be purchased or sold
We promised the good life but never delivered we just live

Daddy played the role bounced the heads off the wall
Protected the voice dressed in the black of night

Me I was the child of determinations sad on review
Life’s excuse skipping past the strings tied to the door
Pulled the tooth but my scream bought me a dollar
Heard the guitar and waited as daddy sang the blues

Glasses of grain alcohol by the glass free of charge
Two years old behind bars lawman feared the old man

Cell-mates all fell silent as his voice filled the silence
Deep and pure walls echo the sound and tears fell from the hard
Tear jerkers as he said left his lips slurred from the booze
Still so strong that all held the sound echoing up and down

She put her arms around me told me she loved me more than ever
Days in the future those words changed to hate but the drugs died

At the stone nobody sings we just visit for a while praying
A fourteen-year kid left to find the only song he knew
She cries in her sleep not for the love lost but for the drug that died
No passion left only a dream burned in the spoon of never ending loss

Twenty-one and home from the war seeing only a piece of life's cost
Hold her one last time we changed both neither better just lonely cold
My soul is what it is a battle ground naive dancing to the sound of ideal
She kisses my cheek and walks through the door for the last time
Never turns or hesitates as she must for the tears burden her choice
I place a fist through the wall not knowing the answer only knowing it was wrong

Age takes it role time counts a need of maturity and the grace of God saves
Pick the correct values raise a family to be better for your wrong, smiles sometimes

Prose-n-Poetry.com

The Writer In Me
by Walter Jones (Age: 63)
copyright 08-02-2005

Age Rating: 13 to 127

Prose-n-Poetry.com

The Writer In Me by Walter Jones (Age: 63) copyright 08-02-2005 Age Rating: 13 to 127

The Writer In Me
by Walter Jones (Age: 63)
copyright 08-02-2005

Age Rating: 13 to 127