While he was falling
I saw his hair
And saw mistakes
That I owe
So many deeds
And failure insisted
On being there
To make me

While he was falling,
I saw a small house
On a tiny beach
And hated them both
For the story wasn’t mine
And for the owner
Who spent his life
Building the house
And once he did,
There was nothing else

While he was falling,
I saw words
That glued my lips
To an awful thought
I didn’t think
And didn’t share

While he was falling,
I saw my pants
And felt the liquid
Running down
Through my veins
To the legs
That cheated him

While he was falling,
I saw her name
Torn into letters
Abstract and dead
And I saw her face
It wasn’t mine

While he was falling,
I saw bread
Cut into pigeons
That couldn’t fly
For the wind
Never came on time

When he was falling,
I dug a hole
With his plastic shovel
Into the ground
Beneath his back
And wished his name
Was Alice
And that I could watch him
fall Forever
Or at least
until I died

When he fell down,
I saw myself, an elephant
And an ice cream
It was me, as it was me
And the elephant
That he couldn’t yet
Pronounce
And the ice cream
for the hour after

Falling

There was once a renowned Italian Renaissance sculptor who was asked by a bishop viewing one of his pieces how he had known there was such a beautiful lion contained within that massive, misshapen piece of stone he'd been given ? The artist replied that he simply knocked off everything that didn't look like a lion... I love this metaphor, as I believe it says all you need to know about the learning curve of life. In order to acheive our creative and worldly ambitions we have no choice but to keep relentlessly banging away a little each day (“no, not like that, that’s not a lion…no, that’s not a lion either…) until at some point, by default of the thing you are making being a little closer to representing what it is you were trying to express than it was the day before, you actually might find yourself one day with something of real artistic merit in your hands. I think I have spent my life being so blown away by the art and music of others - all those damn beautiful lions out there - how could I not be tempted to spend a little time whilst on this mortal coil banging a few rocks together myself on the off-chance there might be some plausible lion of my own out there waiting to be revealed ?  I hope you like the songs, and thanks for passing by. A.George Sinclair

Sou um poeta de língua portuguesa que descobriu como musicar suas poesias.

I am a Portuguese-speaking poet who discovered how to set his poems to music.

https://open.spotify.com/artist/5QrUJ71HRSZ4O2wVAJkKZG?si=hEfyDkAFT5igytThleIeDg

Nomad lyricist and techologist. Very obsessed with reviving classic poetry and using music as a time machine where distant epochs intertwine.

Falling

RaiNaWi