Sometimes I get so obsessed
I completely forget how to breathe
I just want to cry out in distress
But they say no.
I just want to fall into dreams,
But the stoppers clutch at my seams
Tearing me down to the ground
To show me what’s real.
But what if I don’t like the sight:
The sight of broken leaves
It’s not what I choose to believe
I’m given no choice.
I see magic in sounds,
But they see numbers and nouns
When I rave on about silver crowns
All I get are frowns.
Why can’t I just fall into dreams?
Because this world is not what it seems
It wakes you from your peace
To give you a made-up truth.
Song writing is one of those things that I do when inspiration randomly hits and I usually have these “lyric epiphanies” in the middle of night when insomnia kicks in. I play the piano and acoustic guitar and have composed countless little tunes and songs, but I can never seem to put the two together. That is why I write stories (mostly about strange characters and surprising occurrences) and then try to colour it in with simple tunes and ideas of what other instruments would do (I really admire the “orchestra” band idea - I want those drums, that guitar, the piano, but I also want the violins, the double bass and sometimes even a saxophone! Why not?) I have been in a few bands and I am still trying to start one, but more on that later. This is an excerpt from one of my latest little poem stories:
I’ve never kept a diary because they tell too much truth
So when I met you I had no story to tell and no history
I picked up a pen for the first time the day you greeted me
And wrote down everything I felt and saw and thought
I’ve never collected photos because my memories suffice
So when I met you I had no pictures to tell my dreamy tale
I held a camera for the first time the day I had a glimpse of you
And took photos of every tree, bird, and remarkable man
A monument in Braamfontein Cemetery, Johannesburg. One of the oldest cemeteries in South Africa, it houses the graves of many Anglo Boer War victims.