Words Living Beyond My Life
Artists of the pen and song age and die but their magic lives on
The only light in the room
the soft blue light from the stereo
Hours past midnight
but I was restless,
too many hours writing,
too tired to sleep just yet
I sprawled in my chair
Head back
Glass of wine cradled in my lap
Listening to voices
dead for thirty years
Their songs still speaking to me,
words of gentle love and hard lives
Artists of the pen and song age and die
but their magic lives on
into the late-night hours of my life
Lyrics heard a thousand times,
still speaking to me
as if played only for my heart
Words I read out loud,
Frost still choosing his path less traveled,
a hundred years later,
while Mozart’s insanity,
dead for two hundred years,
plays a soundtrack for my life
I wonder what they were thinking
when they wrote away
into those hours of desperate inspiration
