I Will be There to Get You When it is Time
When the long day,
has come to it’s weary end.
When the sun,
lays down it’s heavy head.
Close your eyes;
think not on
where you have been,
or what you have done.
Be where you are,
and see,
where you have come.
Let the pure air
fill your lungs,
clear your mind,
enrich your heart.
Perhaps…
glimpse into the world,
and into the tomorrow you build
Today.
See the path,
get lost in this moment …
for as long as you would like.
When the time comes
for you,
to rejoin the world
to continue the work.
I will be there…
Oh, I will be there
I will be there to get you,
when it is time.
Fingerprints
On a quiet rainy night in January.
Snuggled in a warm blanket and socks.
Watching rain splatter on rocks,
Outside my windowpane.
A thought occurred to me.
As I ran my one thumb over the other,
Felt the ripples, grooves, and scars.
That made the thumb my own,
And no other’s.
I then ran my thumb on each finger,
Forming a soft pincer.
These are mine. No one else’s.
We are just as unique as theses.
None quite like the other.
Our hearts are like clay aren’t they?
Shaped and molded,
By those we let hold it.
I decided to reach down,
deep through my sweater,
Into my chest.
To test my hypothesis.
I pulled out my heart,
held it in my hands.
It beat and thumped,
soft and warm.
Like a drum wrapped in soft wool.
I examined it there in my hands.
I turned it all around, upside down,
and then back again.
As expected,
there they were.
The ripples, grooves, and scars.
That made this heart truly mine,
and no other’s.
The marks did not match the ones on my thumbs.
or my other fingers, for that matter.
I lined them up,
compared them side by side.
They simply did not align.
They were not mine.
Hearts are like clay.
Shaped and molded,
By those we let hold it.
I studied my heart, a
ssigning it’s groves,
to someone or another.
I smiled,
placed it back inside.
With a tear in my eye,
I realized.
We must share our hearts,
for them to be truly our own.
We must give them away,
for others to hold.
Little Old Piano
Sitting in a jovial,
old cafe.
In the part of town that is nestled near the bay.
A Piano sits in the corner,
bellowing exuberant exaltations,
For joy of playing for another day.
“Making the same cup since 1956.”
That is what all the shirts for sale there say.
Notes waft on the roasted breeze.
Putting even the most anxious hearts at ease.
Patrons come from miles around,
to hear the notes, life and sounds
Flowing from the little old piano,
in the corner of the Cafe.
Many players have sat behind its keys.
Some of them famous,
Others of hardly any renown.
They poured their,
Hearts.
Minds.
Souls.
All they had.
Played the best they ever have
On the little old piano.
In the corner of the cafe.
Every Saturday is supposed to be the Piano’s last,
But to this day it still holds fast.
It was announced about 10 years back or so,
That the little old Piano had to go.
Why?
That little old piano may sound beautiful.
But it is rather…
unsightly!
The keys are bowed and worn to the bone.
Some keys are hardly there at all.
Some genius in their infinite wisdom,
Decided that neon maroon
and electric green,
Were a wonderful color scheme.
The paint is now,
Chipped.
Peeling.
And cracked.
The years certainly have left their havoc.
What color is the bench?
Why, powder blue of course.
With a red cushion to top it all off.
The wheels rusty copper…
painted gold.
If the designers were trying to convey…
Clown trampled by parade?
They succeeded.
What a sorry sight to behold.
Regardless,
Every Saturday,
For the past 10 years or so.
Musicians come from all around.
Bound for the jovial old cafe,
In the part of town nestled near the bay.
To ensure that the little old piano,
Will play for another Saturday.
As long as they play,
The owner will never throw the piano away.
The crowds that come all need coffee,
You see?
Whether they perform or listen,
Their money is green,
And the cafe owner is rather keen
To collect as much as she can.
If she continues to announce that piano is to go,
She knows
Saturdays will forever be in the green.
Michael Chille is an upstate New York native who loves hiking, reading, board games, and video games.
