The Mystery, Crime, and Thriller Group discussion

The Tourist

Cities with their tourist prisons
Offer hypnotizing visions,
As art and history hide behind
A coin-slot with a master mind.
Quaint and pleasant country places
Wonder at the vacant faces
That never really seem to see
The awesome beauty of a tree.
They pack the prejudice of home
And take a trip to ancient Rome;
Its' majesty they cannot see,
But how impressed their friends will be!

Looking At A Stranger

Look at me, look through me.
Can't you see the spark is gone?
Look at me, look straight into my heart,
Find my soul, then look beyond.
\Our time together ends tonight.
Look deep inside to that strange place,
Perhaps too far for you to see
My unfamiliar, saddened face.
\You pledged your love so many times
To someone you don't understand.
You never looked quite deep enough
And now, you must let go my hand.
\You looked at me and couldn't see
My hiding place, my refuge there.
You can't love someone you don't know,
I have to go, I don't know where.

Time

Time has always been unkind,
Leaving childhood behind,
Racing through those few short years
Of carefree hearts and happy tears.
Then time gives way to hopes and dreams,
And all of life's ambitious schemes;
The future holds such fruitful plans,
For brilliant minds and busy hands.
The child who goes to bed at night
Becomes a man at morning light;
Then time slows down to help him learn
That childhood days will not return.

I deleted your message, Kyle. Not the appropriate content for this group.

My Favorite Year

You...reappearing in my mind;
You were right and I was blind-
But that was long ago.

Now...do I ever cross your mind?
Are your memories like mine?
Or have they let you go?

After all the loves I've been through,
All these years-
I had to go so far without you,
Now it's clear:

You were my favorite love,
That was my favorite year.
When we...we were young forever yesterday;
Fools and little children run away,
If we could go back there, would we stay?

Roots

We scratch at endless fields of frozen earth,
And claw our way through beds of solid rock;
With bleeding hands we search for roots of worth,
And try to turn the hands back on the clock.
Obsessed with fading memories of the past,
We attempt to find the reason for our being;
And although the possibilities are vast,
It's the terrifying future we are fleeing.

Hayes wrote: "I deleted your message, Kyle. Not the appropriate content for this group."

Sorry about that, Hayes.

:-)
Thanks

No problem.:)