all the pretty things ( for A.G.)

i feel the chill in my bones
your ghost's been playin' with me
me and i don't know
anything
when i'm feelin' somethin'
you're
like a dream in my head
you're always playin' with me
me then
i don't know where you go
hundred years ago or somethin'

sitting at the window
thinking times so far away from us
it takes such little things
to keep us on the spot and standing up
looking out that window loving
all the years i've lifted up
all the pretty things,
and the weight when i picked 'em up

reading this back i wonder why i plant the seeds

i saw a painting of a bowl of berries
and it reminded me of my life

they were all at peak;
ripe and ready and even
the ones layed round the bowl
each perfect on their individual
own

meant to be eaten that day
they were and is life
as i pick my tomatoes and
peppers
and they lay for days

past ripe and maybe
i lose them and maybe
i could dry them but
i face it
i don't know the procedures
i don't make the time
and such is this bowl of berries
right now. lately.

my self imposed times out
barely steer this ship com
pared to the beatings rendered
from parents to a boy child