Alamode

Ala mode

 

By Katherine Rose Freedman

Another bad day and I pick up the pen.

Time to visit my sorrows again.

 

Another bad day,

And I see it on paper.

 

Maybe no one reads it, but hey ...

 

More hard times, more bumps in my road.

But everything I do goes ala mode.

 

On top of it's a story.

Beneath it is a poem.

 

That's my home.

 

I live in my own words.

 

Writing 'bout the birds,

'Bout the moon, 'bout the people

Writing 'bout my travels, 'bout the stars and the steeple.

 

Writing 'bout the way you looked at me.

Writing 'bout the way I seemed so free.

 

 

But now I'm putting I'm putting down my pen,

And I'm getting back to life,

Back to pain, and joy and strife.

 

 

I see my life as an old book.

No one picks me up.

No one dusts me off.

I'm on my own.

 

 

But I wear a leather jacket,

And I'll make it through this storm.

I'll fight with much resistance,

T'il my pages are all torn.

Oh I'll fight

Through the night -

Even if my ink bleeds through.

I'm coming through the blue.

If no one picks me up ...

If no one dusts me off ...

I guess I'll have to make it on my own.

 

This is the way

This is the day

This is the time we'll be together.

 

This is the year

That came without fear,

Bringing us close forever,

And ever on.

 

This is the moment we'll be forever one.

 

This is the chance we have to start again.'

 

This is the way that dreams come true overnight,

And the world is silent as stone,

 

And the birds start singing as we fly we them to the stars.

(And Beyond)

 

 

This is the way to sing.

This is the way to celebrate,

This is the way to smile, according to ... love.

According to the stars above.

This is the way to love.

According to the stars above.

 

According to love.

 

This is the way to love ...

This is the way to love ...

Steve CannonFreedman, Poetry, Tribes