Young Writers Society

the shining sun

the sun is shining and the tree leaves
shine like emeralds
in a city in the land of Oz.
it's a perfect day,
a beautiful day,
and I am alone,
thinking about you.

I'm thinking about how
I want to share this perfect day
with you. Is that even possible?
Is it real, or is it a pipe dream?

everyone around me is in love
everyone around me is together,
enjoying this day in the shining sun.

maybe one day, we can too.

life in pink

We could be so happy, girl
if you and I were one. I imagine
that your kiss is like a sugar touch
and your eyes a siren's song,
drawing me in to you.
before I met you, I lived in a world
of black and white,
and now, everything is pink.

life in pink is how I always
want things to stay, because
pink is the color of flowers, of cotton candy,
and of everything that makes life sweet.

We could grow old together, you and I,
have a lot of kids, always be happy,
in this life in pink.

another life

I wonder if we met in another life--
if we shared one together,
or maybe five, ten, a hundred lifetimes.
through thick and thin,
it was you and me.
that would explain so much,
it would explain why I can't let you go
why I felt drawn to you
like a magnet is drawn to metal--
or maybe there's only this,
and the world brought you to me
because you were meant
to come up with me.
I wish I could remember,
I wish I could understand,
what happened in another life.

falling rain

the rain falls in torrents,
the thunder roars--
it is safe and warm inside,
in my bedroom,
away from the troubles
of outside.

I heard that the rain
represents new beginnings,
of washing away the old,
and bringing forth the new.
I only hope that will be true,
for me, and for everyone around me.

a picture on my wall

ever since we met,
you affixed yourself
to my wall of memories
of people, places,
relationships unfulfilled.
we haven't even kissed,
you are a blink and you'll miss it
flash in my memory.
why am I scared to death to call you?
I suppose, I don't want
you to hurt me.

new york city

welcome to the city
of seven and a half million dreams
of hopes and promises of a better life.
welcome to the city
of Frank Sinatra, of Bob Dylan and Andy Warhol,
welcome to the city
of the Son of Sam
and the last breaths of Sid and Nancy.
it's unlike any other place on earth,
always moving,
always making you sprint
just to keep up.
the bright lights lure you in,
the promises keep you there,
until New York City
has chewed you up and spit you out.

golden age

Darling, I'll take you back to the golden age
a time when we all wore suits,
listened to jazz in smoky nightclubs
and painted our world in black and white.
Grace Kelly was the first woman
I ever loved. Her world was always
one I wanted to live in-- a crown, a palace,
never any problems at all.

But even princesses can't be rescued
and time always goes by
until all we have are memories.
these days we've lost a sense
of romance of the golden age.
Maybe we could live it again,
even if just for one dance
while a brass band plays
a jazz song from a time gone by.

botanical garden

there is a garden of plants and flowers,
in a quiet place, away from
the chaos of the city.
it's a place where we can go
and feel like we're in the middle of nowhere.
it's a place that clears your mind
that makes your troubles go away,
or at least keep them at bay.
my first time visiting as a child
I remember thinking that it was
the most nature I'd ever seen.
I think I'll go back and write a song,
and maybe we can go there too.

5pm in central park

five pm and all is quiet in the air.
the sun shines so brightly
it's hard to believe that it's just about dinnertime.
children are coming home from day camp,
and the ones that aren't are playing
in central park, eating hot dogs or ice cream,
the smell of barbecue and grass
enveloping this special time,
this here and now.
as I sit here with the window open,
listening to the birds play nature's song,
I want to tell them all
to not to be such in a hurry to grow up--
there is something special
about being a kid.

saturday

it's a Saturday morning in the summertime--
it's a day that used to once
mean something to me,
a long time ago-- I'd made it
through a week of school
and I could sit in the living room
and watch the newest He-Man
in my pajamas.

now, Saturday is a day like any other,
off to work for people who don't
see me as an individual
but a drone for their own use
and my music as a nuisance,
and keep me just poor enough
to need them, and just comfortable enough
not to complain.

I know that one day,
they'll say the used
to work with me.
until then, Saturday
is just another day
on the hamster wheel.

just out of reach

everything I've ever wanted
has always been just out of reach.
everything in life
seems to stop short
before I get what I've wanted.
It's all been hopelessly
just out of reach.
I've kept my head up,
I've prayed to a God in the sky
I've tried every possibly avenue.
Maybe the key
is in wanting,
maybe I can't want too much,
or just out of reach
it will always stay.

someday

the most powerful word in my vocabulary--
has always been "someday".
someday, we'll be happy,
someday, things will change,
someday, all of our troubles
will have gone away--
someday, I'll see you again.
they say life happens in the here
and now, I suppose that's true
but I can't help but think
it will all be better someday.

strawberries

somewhere, far away from here,
there's a place where strawberries grow
in the summer sun, a place where
all is quiet and all is calm,
and we've checked our troubles at the door.
we'll lay out a picnic blanket
and eat the strawberries
we've just picked
while the sun and the chirping birds
make us forget that life
was ever any bad.
summer is here,
and I want to live,
to really live,
through every moment.