My Father's Library
I opened the door
To a myriad of books
Where my father had found pleasure
In the past
I broke the palisade
Around his library of books
To discover the treasure
From his past
I hesitated, then strayed
Inside his library of books
Where reading was leisure
In the past
I sought my father's pride
Inside a myriad of books
To make a measure
Of his past
And through his library of books
I sense what the past can bring
And what the content of books
Mean; as I read them, they sing
Concert
Concert blues bring out the sweat
Flannelette shirts are soaking wet
Good times aplenty for those who can see
While others rage to make most of the fee
Lights circle with cosmic expression
Drinkers look to be in depression
Marijuana smells are alive but hide
While the guitars reign side by side
Soon echoes of despair ring all around
Hearts content leave the battleground
The chaos disrupts and swallows the joy
Scenes are desolate like the rocks of Hanoi
The mass erupts, free like the sea
Soon it becomes a lonely place to be
© Mark Pirie
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