No time for writer’s block in improv or no such thing?
Faith would be nice, but I’ll settle for hope
Got to clean these dirty glasses and clear this smokey head
Get excited about life instead of counting days til you’re dead
Trying to get my hands on some paper all I can grasp are some shreds
Love finds a way to overcome it all the real and the B.S.
Makes all the fear the doubt the broken self esteem worth it in the end
Just sittin riffin tryna spill it all out
Create something express myself that way instead of shout
On second thought find me a pillow to absorb the noise
And watch out as I hurt around all my toys
An child’s distraction from an adult’s labor
Just need to remember how lucky I am and do myself a few favors
Blue thunder crashes down onto and then splashes off the mossy sandstone, pulverizing the riverbed into submissive sand. Refreshing mist greets the bystander’s face. The spruces, pines, and firs bask in the crisp autumn sunlight. A nearly leafless aspen is a spinal cord with nerves reaching out in all directions to feel the shadow suffocate the valley. A lone pine stands proudly atop the falls as though it’s modeling the latest needles from the Ponderosa line. And it all matches her perfectly. Her skin is gentle and brown like the sand we stand on. Her eyes are reminiscent of of the pines’ bark, a rich almond. The mountainside is tall and noble as she is. Her smile is as hypnotizing as the rushing waterfall. She picks me a flower. I accept it graciously and embrace her. We hold hands and smile at each other. We enjoy the scenery and the moment and ask some strangers to take a photo of us. Young love preserved in film, a sweet memory. When things are tough, we must think of times like this, and remember how calm and pleasant life can be.