Soft And Tender

Give me words that are soft and gentle; words I can understand.

Had enough of the rain, strain and pain; don’t want to hear

Of your loss or gain, or your struggles: they like grief are

Fiercely unique; can share the idea, but not the substance.

I am tired, cold and numb, how much further need I succumb

To talk of loss and despair; situations beyond repair?

Call me a fool, call me a moron; makes no difference.

Show me the sun, let me feel its warmth;

Had enough of its burning heat, lengthy details of noble defeat.

Beauty, a rose with thorns ready to prick; fingers to bleed.

Give me illusion, delusion; I’m OK with confusion.

Can always take another transfusion of fantasy or desire.

Look for fortune, look for fame. From whom have you stolen your success?

Tales of solitary existence, alone in the dark; can tell you a few.

Yes, they are stark, silhouettes in outline sharply defined -

For a moment, until they merge into each other:

A psychologist’s ink blot. What does this remind you of?

Nights in white satin (never reaching the end)?

Stairway to heaven (there’s a lady who knows);

I don’t know her, you might. I was so much younger then.

I’m so much older, now.