A Moment of Weakness
While listening to Bruce Hornsby Live, I am undone and trip on the natural chemicals in my brain.
His talented fingers pluck melodies that please and soothe me. I groove and gather myself tight in the music.
I am transported to another era
Where things were not always simpler
and not always sadder,
When my hair, golden thick reached my waist and I could see the toes of my biker boots.
My heart's arsonist tendencies burned more bridges than I care to admit
And I walked and strutted blind and full of pride through a perceived black and white world.
Now, I allow a self-indulgent smile, a weak instant of self-pity as I recognize how everything, including our perceptions is tainted by time's grey passage.
His talented fingers pluck melodies that please and soothe me. I groove and gather myself tight in the music.
I am transported to another era
Where things were not always simpler
and not always sadder,
When my hair, golden thick reached my waist and I could see the toes of my biker boots.
My heart's arsonist tendencies burned more bridges than I care to admit
And I walked and strutted blind and full of pride through a perceived black and white world.
Now, I allow a self-indulgent smile, a weak instant of self-pity as I recognize how everything, including our perceptions is tainted by time's grey passage.
Lee Gooden 2-24-11
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
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