like a poem poorly written

I love Simon and Garfunkle.
I don't think I could ever say that enough.
I love Paul Simon's lyrics and music. I love Garfunkle's voice. He can hit some notes I wouldn't even dream about. Their harmony is captivating. Sometimes, I feel like the music part of the song is so simplistic, yet so complex. I know that doesn't make sense, whatever. Anyways, I love so many of their songs, and right at this moment, if I HAD to pick a favorite this one would be it. I just like so many of the images in it, and it's amazing how it captures that feeling of being with a friend that was once so close, and now not so much. Everyone knows. Nothing necessarily pulls the friends apart but time and distance. Each has gone their own separate way, and meeting again is just not the same.

Anyhow, Ihave many friends that I miss dearly, but I know we are in different worlds now, but I still love catching up briefly and know what's happening, and I will always care and always enjoy reuniting every few years or so.

What I like most about S&G's music...I think alot. They always get me riled up. Whether it be nostalgia or normally untouched emotions, I'm moved to deep thoughts when I listen to them. And plus, their music is so soothing and so smooth. Everyone should give 'em a listen every once and awhile. That's all.


Its a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.

And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.


And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what weve lost.


Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.


Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
Youre a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

--The Dangling Conversation