Cardinal Directions

Fields of green and skies of blue,
never know what they're coming to,
and the lights that fade at night erase
every sign of color and life.

Every scene we're pulling through
helps to reveal what we have to do
and the paper trail that fills my room
wasn't worth the haggling, so I'm traveling on...

To every scenic spot
to stretch my limbs that soon forgot how to move,
and when the red birds sing, their tunes will bring some better news.

Although my shirt is green and my pants are blue,
polarity shifts can't help me through,
the muck and the steam that coats my shoes
isn't worth the strain, so I'll throw them in the bonfire's blaze...

To let it melt away
and to free my brain that soon forgot how to choose
and when the red birds fly, I'll loose myself of this tightened noose.

fencing with flowers
climbing with lace
mid-winter showers
suddenly replaced

With all the things I've got
and never leave this spot that's so overcome with the blues
and when the red bird dies, we'll soon realize,
that sometimes the prize ain't worth getting to.

Bernoulli

The air pushing around the fuselage, Bernoulli at work, his arms stretching from the ground to guide our noses miles above his. And we, hoping his arms never tire.

Sometimes he stumbles, and we shake furiously. We're not even supposed to be here in the first place, are we?

And Bernoulli is an old man, his joints growing weak and his hair thin, breathing shallowly with lungs lined with the dusts only billions of miles can collect, his brow beaded with globules finer than crystals of refined sugar, running salty into the corners of his lined mouth. And while he sweats and toils to prove himself, I worry about getting a window seat.

And he strains
and I sit
And he strains
for a bit
of fame
And they sit
and complain.