Day 287: Winter Rhythms

Often times inspiration comes locked in a warm glass of mulled wine staring outside into the cold winter night and in the warm company of friends. They are about finding a page on a moleskin diary and writing to the free will take must overtake you with the obsessive need to write. Write languages get translated from one form to the next, I wish we could carry the meanings as though seasons cradled in time from one to the next. This winter the music you want to play is yet to be composed, the songs you want to sing are yet to be written. The winter rhythms that surround us with a warm glass of wine and nothing more than thoughts come heavy and sometimes hit hard. Here's two of such pieces combined from yesterday night, hoping I got to carry over something.

Winter Rhythms
The lampshade reminded me of a warm day
            The yellow glow rested on the table
The radiator that isn't warm tonight
   And the blue wine glass that lay empty fades

The voices in the other room get louder at times
     They are restless at best not looking for a rhyme
We smile in discussions we won't remember tomorrow
      We will have won a few fights and yet be lost in sorrow

I sketch with these words, painting you do not see
       And empty forms of things appear for a minute & leave
They tell me in songs we must sing tonight
        Of lyrics that for now we must only begin to write

I walk around with an invisible wound
    We will all begin with warm glasses & drink through
And in hours of the day I will look for tonight

The little bit that is visible, in dreams that have stayed
That have given up and somehow gotten away
I forget what I was supposed to write, of winter dreams in sleepy eyes
   Or just randoms words in poetry that we get to write

The golden hues that settles on a single page
       That grazes the glass of whiskey that seems to have aged
The last two lines on a page tries to pry themselves loose
     Come play this song with me, of things undecided we get to choose