Inspired by the feelings of meeting someone new who captivates you and captures your heart..
She's
Not just the last thing
before I drift away
Nor just my first smile
when I wake to meet the day
But...
She's
everything I hear
and everything I see
Have all become so much brighter
softer
sweeter
All because she chose me.
She's
my reminder that life isn't always fair
that sometimes life just may not care
if you deserve it or not or if youve ever done anything right
for it to make the sun shine and chase away the night
But even if she
were all in my head - a dream, a vision,
a ghost in my bed
I'd still be
a hopeful romantic chasing my dreams
Just to see what I can see
I'll keep dreaming and waiting for her to come back to visit me.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
The Day I Gave Up
All we think we have to do, why it all feels like a game
But you know, nothing ever really is the same
As it is when it's only in your own head
You can think about the way it was
Or the way you'd hoped it would be
Or think about what you could've said,
Maybe you could've saved me.
I remember the cold in your eyes
The day your heart turned to stone.
The day mine broke, no longer beating on its own.
I think it must still beat, because I'm at least half alive
But maybe I'm just half dead; broken down and alone..
Living on borrowed time that nobody wants back
You can think about those you once knew stepping over and around to be on their way
Maybe... no one cared enough to talk to you
Or maybe it's just because no one knew what to say
I'd hoped for hope but lost it all
when you turned your back and I watched my empire fall,
slipping through the hands of this man who never was strong enough to hold on
To those tender heartstrings that burned hot and white
I thought I saw the flame burning bright
But all I saw was the flare before the dying light
Burned its image in my eyes
The last thing I'll ever see
Now too blind to see past and say goodbyes
To all those I loved and who always loved me.
Dedicated to Brandon - You are loved and missed greatly. May you rest in peace.
But you know, nothing ever really is the same
As it is when it's only in your own head
You can think about the way it was
Or the way you'd hoped it would be
Or think about what you could've said,
Maybe you could've saved me.
I remember the cold in your eyes
The day your heart turned to stone.
The day mine broke, no longer beating on its own.
I think it must still beat, because I'm at least half alive
But maybe I'm just half dead; broken down and alone..
Living on borrowed time that nobody wants back
You can think about those you once knew stepping over and around to be on their way
Maybe... no one cared enough to talk to you
Or maybe it's just because no one knew what to say
I'd hoped for hope but lost it all
when you turned your back and I watched my empire fall,
slipping through the hands of this man who never was strong enough to hold on
To those tender heartstrings that burned hot and white
I thought I saw the flame burning bright
But all I saw was the flare before the dying light
Burned its image in my eyes
The last thing I'll ever see
Now too blind to see past and say goodbyes
To all those I loved and who always loved me.
Dedicated to Brandon - You are loved and missed greatly. May you rest in peace.
The Next Chapter - Preface
So, starting back to school to further my career in the music industry has really motivated me to push my songwriting to be a priority. I have been playing for more than 20 years but never written a complete song with my own lyrics. My problem is not composing the music, but writing the lyrics and putting them to the music I compose. So therefore, as the growth process evolves I have decided to start sharing my lyrics and poetry to the rest of the world that might be interested in reading it. Since I am not fishing for compliments from random people on facebook that couldn't care less about poetry, I will be sharing my work here on my blog, found - http://bigwillgibson.blogspot.com/
Before we dive in, I do want to preface with this - Publishing my lyrics and poetry is possibly one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. Whenever you are reading someone's poetry, before you criticize the content, consider this - Any poetry composed purely for self-expression is different than the little superficial glimpses we each allow others to see on a regular basis. The author is stripping down all outer protection, removing our masks and costumes that we all wear and bearing his/her soul to the audience, allowing the entire world without limit or control to peer deeply into their innermost being. This process of self revelation, something that for an individual in, for example, a private therapeutic environment, can often take years before reaching a "breakthrough" in which the deepest parts of a person's own self are finally vocalized and shared with not only the therapist, but also revealed to oneself. And even this example takes place behind a locked door where judgment and criticism are withheld, even more so, actually forbidden, and confidentiality is legally guaranteed. Even among your friends and lovers, those people that you trust the most, consider how long it takes you to open yourself in trust to each person. Many of us like to think we are completely open and transparent to others, but realistically, rarely, (I would suggest never) is a person really an "open book" to the world in their everyday affairs and private thought-life. We reveal only as much of ourselves as we need to and in each situation do so differently according to how we believe it will best suit our immediate needs.
Think about that for a second. We actually guard our innermost being with such vigor and passion that we don't even like to reveal those parts to our own conscious thought and recognition. We don't even like to know ourselves, much less let someone else inside! We as human beings are all born with a true individuality, a unique real hidden self of which we alone maintain 100% of the control over what the outside world is allowed to see or not see. Of course, this individuality has inherent limits. Though we may live and thrive in community, ultimately we are each bound in isolation, inherently unable to fully reveal every part of our personal experience to another person, even if we truly wanted to do so - it is simply not possible to do it completely. In his classic work, "The Doors of Perception," Aldous Huxley so much more eloquently described this universal element of the human condition -
And so it is with the artist. The artist abandons that guard on the only thing that he alone has completely under his dominion and instead chooses to share it with the rest of the world, never to return to the realm of personal private secrecy. Therefore, when you read the writings of another, listen to music, or consider a painting or sculpture, remember that art is not created to be critiqued. It is created to express the inexpressible and to share the incommunicable. Together we may share in a common experience, applying our own individual experiences to which a new interpretation and experience can be born.
Thanks for checking out my blog. I hope you enjoy it.
Before we dive in, I do want to preface with this - Publishing my lyrics and poetry is possibly one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. Whenever you are reading someone's poetry, before you criticize the content, consider this - Any poetry composed purely for self-expression is different than the little superficial glimpses we each allow others to see on a regular basis. The author is stripping down all outer protection, removing our masks and costumes that we all wear and bearing his/her soul to the audience, allowing the entire world without limit or control to peer deeply into their innermost being. This process of self revelation, something that for an individual in, for example, a private therapeutic environment, can often take years before reaching a "breakthrough" in which the deepest parts of a person's own self are finally vocalized and shared with not only the therapist, but also revealed to oneself. And even this example takes place behind a locked door where judgment and criticism are withheld, even more so, actually forbidden, and confidentiality is legally guaranteed. Even among your friends and lovers, those people that you trust the most, consider how long it takes you to open yourself in trust to each person. Many of us like to think we are completely open and transparent to others, but realistically, rarely, (I would suggest never) is a person really an "open book" to the world in their everyday affairs and private thought-life. We reveal only as much of ourselves as we need to and in each situation do so differently according to how we believe it will best suit our immediate needs.
Think about that for a second. We actually guard our innermost being with such vigor and passion that we don't even like to reveal those parts to our own conscious thought and recognition. We don't even like to know ourselves, much less let someone else inside! We as human beings are all born with a true individuality, a unique real hidden self of which we alone maintain 100% of the control over what the outside world is allowed to see or not see. Of course, this individuality has inherent limits. Though we may live and thrive in community, ultimately we are each bound in isolation, inherently unable to fully reveal every part of our personal experience to another person, even if we truly wanted to do so - it is simply not possible to do it completely. In his classic work, "The Doors of Perception," Aldous Huxley so much more eloquently described this universal element of the human condition -
We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies—all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes."
But Huxley's somewhat depressing observation fails to take into account the most powerful ripper of holes into the armor protecting our private selves, and that hole puncher is actually individual creative expression. Humans possess an ability unique to other creatures - artistic expression (such as painting, sculpting, musical composition and performance, poetry, creative writing and so forth). The artist bears his soul to the entire world, letting go of that one thing that all humans possess and guard with such tenacity - that one and only very fragile and vulnerable piece of us that is the only element of human existence that is kept completely private, that is, our own private experiences and the emotions and feelings around them.And so it is with the artist. The artist abandons that guard on the only thing that he alone has completely under his dominion and instead chooses to share it with the rest of the world, never to return to the realm of personal private secrecy. Therefore, when you read the writings of another, listen to music, or consider a painting or sculpture, remember that art is not created to be critiqued. It is created to express the inexpressible and to share the incommunicable. Together we may share in a common experience, applying our own individual experiences to which a new interpretation and experience can be born.
Thanks for checking out my blog. I hope you enjoy it.
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