Faded

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“No matter the cup, coffee can never taste bad” Gun Roswell

Faded

On old beat up, chipped and faded cup i have
The only survivor of a life past and sad
But when i pour that dark and scented liquid slowly in to it
It’s almost as breathing new life bit by bit

The soaring hot beverage filling the cup to the hilt
But the old crockery doesn’t seem to mind one bit
Keeping it fresh and nice until i am able to drink
Being a trusted tool even after all this time
Yes, with this one i really got lucky and keeping in mind
When venturing out next time
And shopping for cheap imitations
Which can never replace, an old sensation

Lit Up

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“Follow the light!?” Gun Roswell

Lit Up

Follow me out of the darkness
Through, this, narrow passage
I cannot guarantee you the future
This, solution, is only a suture
But, if you dare to take this leap
It won’t cost much but it’s actually very cheap
A small step, the first on of many
And, after a while, you’ll notice the changes
The darkness fading, as will all the blaming
Self doubt, sadness and hating
Before you know it, you’ll be surrounded
By all the light and colours you could imagine
As a reward, for discarding all that doubting

Metallic Twist

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“Oh I’ll twist it right, in there!” Gun Roswell

Metallic Twist

In a twist of metal, she was born
In the early hours, before sunrise, at dawn
She stretched extremities with a yawn
And then realized, in full length, she was not small

Now, in the middle of the room on her pedestal
She stands there, people gawking, like she was an angel
But she does not mind, she gets off on the stares
Even with an expressionless face, internally, she glares

For she, is no angel, nor is a mere mortal
Her goal to stir trouble, ever since arriving through that portal
The poor artist in creation, was never the wiser poor soul
Of what evil things he let loose, twisting that metallic roll

She is no hurry, watching, waiting, for that special moment
When everyone is under her spell, and then only starts the torment
The eternal yearning, the struggle within, of wanting, never having
That is her agenda, to raise hope, but never giving

Winter Architecture

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“Snow versus the concrete, that’s really neat!” Gun Roswell

Winter Architecture

When a lot of snow poured
Onto the suburbian plateaus
The scene of the architecture
Changed the whole structure
Of the way people viewed
As everything looked brand new

But of course there were always those few
Who were quick to criticize without a preview
Retorting it was nothing but a hoax
Of the now gorgeous and pristine wintry cloak
Always the naysayers never enjoying life
Because it’s apparently more constructive to be with strife

Alas the others did not care
But strolled outside without scare
Standing in the streets and in awe stare
After all, for some, it was still fair
To enjoy life and all the changes there

Sunset Ride

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“Sunset, sea and horses” Gun Roswell

Sunset Ride

A slow ride, on the soft sand
When the sun, is about to descend
Nothing but silence, surrounding
The nature clear and grounding

My stead, moving along
It’s stride, quite strong
Just me, by myself, alone
On this nightly journey, so long

To sun has finally set
And into the nightly sky, the moon let
It’s thin light still so bright
On this journey it just might
Stay all of the night

Narrow

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“Narrow are the paths we travel” Gun Roswell

Narrow

The narrowest of streets I walk
No one here trying me to stalk
Only an alley cat at me will gawk

As I keep on going, fastening my pace
Looking forward to that new place
Because, for me, it’s always the chase
For something new and exiting
Something pleasant and inviting
For my mind and body, enticing

But what ever I find at the end
I know I wont long there spend
Because I know I usually tend
To leave, before the good things start

Once in Winter

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“OK, but only this, one time!” Gun Roswell

Once in Winter

It only happens, once
Not twice, three times, but, once
Once, in this time, of winter

Packing them out from the closet
Waiting, non too eagerly for the next step
Putting those damned things on

Struggling with the boot
It seems, my socks, too many I did choose
Taking some off, shoe fits like a glove

Stepping outside
Into the snow inviting, snide!
A pair of wooden planks with two sticks await me

Securing all them hundred latches
Now, I need some tracks to catch
And off swooshing like a true Finn I finally am

Yes, I can, but still, this is not fun
Pardon the intended pun
Skiing is a pain, especially up the hill

Feeling the thrill though on my skin
When going fast down the hill
And after a few more strokes, I am finally done!

The once in a winter thing, accomplished
Now back inside to reward myself
With a hot beverage, with some alcohol, hopefully
This weather made me feel quite dully

Distortion

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“Images can be so easily distorted” Gun Roswell

Distortion

Images, just like memories, often get distorted
Not because of malice or even if you wanted it
It just happens in the deepest of minds tiny nooks
Things and people, past and future all looked
Through a looking glass of sorts
Which can be causing all the distort

But never mind if it gets that way
Next time you look, in a different place it may
Ending up with new pieces of the same play
And that is the best kind of art work on your own private display

Streetlights

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“Illuminating the path in the darkness, lights of vary” Gun Roswell

Streetlights

When the darkness descends
Do not worry, you don’t have to spend
Your time in total blackness
Just wait a short moment
And try to hold strong

Now, look up!
There, in the far distance!
Now, you see!

 

The many lights are turning on
The nightly streets, filled with life and laughter
The place is none the mad place
You were afraid to enter
But aren’t you glad, you went there

The Dancer

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“A private dance? Surely not!” Gun Roswell

 

The Dancer

Dressed in bright red, with shining shoes to match
The music loud, the rhythm up beat, onto the dance floor, she’ll latch
The the sound waves catching her body, tapping her toes
She is in the zone now, nothing, down her ever slows

Dancing, prancing, even singing, sometimes, the audiences romancing
She is the star of her own show, fully emerged in her own flow
Living in her own little world, where only her voice can be heard
And then, the music stops, the dancer, in her steps flop
Looking around, the empty floor only her surrounds
Settling back, into reality, but only until, she hears the music, and then, she is back in her fantasy