Author: beighartman

Reflections On Pop Music Lyrics 2

poetry

You could use someBAHdaaaay!
You could use someone like me?
Are you sure you could use someBAHdaaaay
Because it wasn’t clear to me
The first ten thousand times you said so.

Cause I was roaming around
And looking down on all I see
And it was you still singing
That you could use someBAHdaaaay

Well there’s someone like you
And all you know and all you speak
Is how you could use someBAHdaaaay
And I get the point, really.
You can stop now.

Everyone’s noticed someBAHdaaaay
Like you, someone like you
But I hope you don’t find someBAHdaaaay
Cause you’ll probably annoy them.

Essence

poetry

When considering the final conclusion
The closing stages of a blaze soon to be extinguished
Embers glowing their brightest before at last they fade
Heartbeats ebbing to an even rhythm amidst the hearth
Radiating undulations and ashen remembrances
Furrowing to heights unknown
Trembling to hushed rest unseen
After everything the trajectory revealed
Cremated powder remnants
Charred and stained against time
But the legacy of its warmth still burning
More brilliantly than ever before

Forgiveness and Arithmetic

poetry

Seventy times seven
Equals four-hundred and ninety.
The worries me.
I’m quite convinced I’ll screw up
More than (if I haven’t already)
The square root of
22.13594362117865
And when I do,
Then what happens?
If I did wrong every day
For one year,
Four months and three days
Would I no longer be forgiven?
If 240,100 divided by 490
Is still four-hundred and ninety,
I’d only have one last chance
To never mess up again.
But fortunately,
Forgiveness is beyond numbers.
And so are you.
It’s times like these
I realize how lucky I am
To have a savior.

Reflections on Pop Music Lyrics

poetry

If you were a rich girl
If you had all the money in the world
If you were a wealthy girl

The money wouldn’t be an applicable currency
So if you had all the money in the world
If wouldn’t be worth anything

Which means you wouldn’t be a rich girl
No men would test you, nor try to impress you
And your cash flow would never begin

If you had all the money in the world
You’d be a destitute girl
Aside from an enormous collection of paper
Na na na na na na na na na na na (x3)

Balloons Eye View (a tale told in reverse)

poetry

And up.
And up.
And up.
And up.
Up.
Until at last I was nothing left
Ascending higher than the heavens
Against the marshmallow clouds
Only colored pricks of contrast
And up.
And up.
And up.
Up.
Elevating effortlessly into the cyan sky
And they watched me unconstrained
But gravity still had its grasp on them.
They leapt up to recapture me.
And up.
And up.
Up.
Long awaited freedom finally came.
Bobbing patiently in the breeze.
I untwirled from around an idle wrist
After the lacey fetters came undone
And up.
Up.
They’ll swear
I was there before I disappeared.

Walled

poetry

These four walls
Incase you like a convict
How did you get here
And when?
You don’t remember a trial,
Only accusations
And waking up to
An icy sweat.
The floor is cool,
Slick with perspiration.
The air is thick,
Weighed with humidity.
There’s a shackle
Attached to your ankle.
It’s fashioned with flesh.
Innards and entrails.
All of them your own.
The walls would crumble
If you opened your eyes.

I’d punch you in the nose if i could and gladly accept all the consequences to follow knowing that in some distorted way i’ve reclaimed that lost time

poetry

Fifty-five minutes
In stop-and-go traffic
Mostly stopped
Waiting for the terrible accident
Fallen tree in the road
Collapsed highway
Or some other great catastrophe
To be cleared
And at last sixty-five mph
Can be resumed
Only to discover
There wasn’t an earthquake
And the world isn’t ending

Instead a million rubberneckers
For the life of me
I’ll never understand
Have slammed their brakes
Staring in awe and wonder
At a solitary police cruiser
Lights flashing
On the side of the road

Do I get a refund on all
Of my time you just wasted?

Congruent Asphyxia

poetry

This isn’t what you wanted
But you drank yourself to sleep
Overdosing on apprehension
And I’d like to say I’m choking
But there’s liquid gently coursing
Through my suffocating lungs
I followed you into the depths
And mark my words
This place
keeps get
ting sm
all
er
.

A dolt

poetry

They say
Wisdom comes with age
But I find that hard to believe
And have yet to see its fruits.
The older I get
The more there is to know
And the less I care to know it.
At four I had life in the bag.
Said bag was a red handkerchief
Fastened around a stick
And slung over my shoulder
Like Tom Sawyer.
Its contents a PBJ
And a pocket knife.
The more enlightened I become
I realize the more stupid I am.
If there’s one thing
I’ve discovered with age
It’s that I’d much rather be a child
Clambering to the top of a hill
In gleeful ignorance
Than digging a hole
In melancholy cognition
Proclaiming that I’m an adult.