When the call is made

Stretched arms finds help 

The knight here, to the rescue 

Come saving grace come 

Dusk is before New

Curtains before dawn 

A route stage to be reached  

On maps of new lights 

The Violinist; Metro Take, Joshua Bell

What is the worth of a man
To be acknowledged without a stage

A man walked onto a busy platform

Picked a spot and mounted his stand

A man walked onto a busy platform

Picked a violin and set his stand to an adventure 

A man walked onto a busy platform

He picked a spot to engage and played his violin

A man walked onto a busy platform

He played his violin eloquently to all that passed by

A man walked onto a busy platform

With his music busking away to delight an audience

A man walked onto a busy platform

With a million pounds worth of violin in value he played

A man walked onto a platform

In a concert hall where all the tickets were sold out

Same as onto a busy metro platform

Only a handful stopped and threw coins his way 

He sat and wandered quietly lamenting

Why t' same music, same violin, same perfomer w'ld be so ignored

The Widowed Heart of Love

Do you want to be a ghost of lovers, premature 
Is that what this is, a ghost of memory 

Why do you taunt and court 
The casket that walks beside the henchmen 

Chasing thorns, that crown the alien misery 
Calling it your own, begging to be crucified 

"I beg of you to bring night to my day" as cry  
Insisting on a funeral with pros-session 

Calling on death star, for your breathing living heart 
Has no more to give, though filled with pump 

To announce its death while blood 
Runs through each beating veins, alive  

Why do you insist on pouring acid 
On fertile lands, rich and wanting 

Just so you can qualify for mourner's cloth 
And say, "I have been widowed like the Scottish window" 

To qualify to announce your heart is no more with love 
Broken and bleeding to death on roses dry 

"See see; here lies the casket with my heart 
Embrace me with condolence for I am love poor"  

Embrace me, all who witness 
For my heart is dead and I have been widowed 

Penguin rejected me

Penguin would not touch me today 
Not until I am dead to value me more 

Penguin has long lost its calling 
A crusader for the poor in the alley ways 

Where Jehovah's witnesses walk like salesmen 
Penguin was once amongst  

Same as, with black suits and white shirt 
Penguin, championing the voice of the poor 

But penguin would not touch me today 
Not until I am dead to value me more 

Yet I take solace from my penguin snob 
One less tree falls by my name as published 

And the forest grows greener each day 
Bringing the rain out to celebrate life 

Giving me more of nature to be inspired
When I am dead, Penguin will name me as great 

But for now as it stands 
Penguin would not touch me today 

Dead Earth

Fish-less dry river  

Trees with no skin, naked log  

The rock has no life 

The Lady in Lace

I have witnessed this suspense filled chill
This stare yonder, many times before

Between provocation and tease
Where silence is the loudest tongue

I have been there, in person in company 
In the middle of such storm 

Windows and doors buckling 
Holding emotions weight, a river dam  

Reaction demands a role, we know that
This hold will not last, anticipations grows 

Eventually this door would let go 
And we would engage a tango of sorts 

Provocation of seduction with the lady in lace 
Or an out burst of rage to encounter 

I have witnessed this filled chill 
This stare yonder, many times before 

Life as a script

Pages, new chapters 

New characters, new lines drawn  

New day, new stories