Singing a Broken Record

Johnny cash once sang to me

In a night of whispering wondering tears

Without worry his wisdom

Sang and sung through the willows

A tale of definition

One of ultimate conviction

He sang to me that night

That he walks the line

 

All these stories are the same

When a fifteen year old smiles

Coming from a broken childhood

Alone, He wasn’t her dad

But he acted the part

She relied on his being

Beating bursting breath from anxious heart.

So she let him touch her

So wrong

Yet so right

But naivety is a gift

love given to those age fifty

This isn’t what I signed up for

 

All these stories are the same

When an eighteen year old cries

Purging their childlike angst

Her mom wouldn’t like him

But Oh, that was the appeal

He was so bad but so hot

Attitude mean eyes like james dean.

So she let him touch her

So wrong

Yet so right

Conditions in violation

But lies are a gift from the angel’s harshest devil

This isn’t what I signed up for

 

Open windows are so romantic

Where voices may carry

Through rooms and parlors

A collaboration of individuality

Record players drone out of these windows

All singing the same song

What had happened?

Was it wrong or right?

That night I walked the line

Along Johnny’s guitar string

This is not what I signed up for

Header image belongs to Karen Ann Myers. Find her website here

 

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