Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Brew

"When the wind through the window
Blows across your pillow
And tells you sleepin' is wrong
If love goes a thirstin'
'Till you feel like burstin'
Then nothin' but the blues are brewin'..."
--Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong "The Blues Are Brewin'"

...And the brewage inebriates my soul

waiting for the moon to light the path to what makes me whole

because the answer lies no where else,

I know nothing but the pain

when your departure makes the rain

circling puddles of wonder within myself...

and I crave for you

like the hunger of a thousand taboos

stirring in my stomach, harsher than the butterflies,

no matter about all the wrongs

in my heart, you still hold a sweet little song

of what we have built, even if it's a passionate lie...

my blues are cold like the hue in which they resignate

as your heart hides and hesitates

to marinate beyond the reach of our fire,

fermented memories lost and blind

with covered eyes, and closed off mind

as Billie sympathizes my desire...

Satchmo's trumpet becomes my story

and I'm hoping the morning will bring me glory

because the brew is quickly turning stale,

silly of me, wanting what's no longer mine

still, I long for our sparkled time

knowing he is forever of no avail...

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2008.