SNAPSHOTS 121311 - THIS IS MY BELOVED

James Michael Taylor

Written one morning at OLD Number NINE weekend with Eliza Gilkyson.

SNAPSHOTS

Life’s a million snapshots, all lined and flashing
It seem like a movie but it’s the persistence of our vision
It all goes in circles, hashing and rehashing
Each day it starts all over, the grand improvisation
I see them now, there on the porch, the logs unburnt and frozen
Clean linens and soft pillows there on the bed unchosen
…and life is just a snapshot. A fleeting moment passing
The sun comes up, the sun goes down, eclipsing all our fashion
We cling to our trinkets. Debris of life amassing
The flesh resists the call of time. We, thus, outlive our passion.
Guitars encased in velvet, indifferent to our mission
Acoustic, they remain, no need for batteries or fission

“Holy moly, so philosophical and moody.
Holy moly, perhaps I need a nap.
Holy moly, there it went and now it’s all over
Holy moly, Honey, come and sit here on my lap.

Like you did in that snapshot when you dared me to be lonely
The tangled stars. The cloudy moon. The naked trees that night
The tears I cried when I found I was your one and only
It’s the distance from the bulb. It’s not the fading of the light.
I see you now, there on the porch, the logs unburnt and frozen
Clean Lenins and soft pillow there on the bed we left unchosen

“Holy moly, so philosophical and moody.
Holy moly, perhaps I need a nap.
Holy Moly, there it went and now it’s all over
Holy moly, Honey, come and sit here on my lap.”

(C) 2011 Royal T Music