Mixtapes (or We Always End Where We Began)

Side A Spring has sprung (or so I’m told) and I have recently discovered: April showers yield more than May flowers. Maybe it’s the sunlight – genial and inviting – Like an accidental smile formed by accidental stars, That seem to make each accidental day worth waking up to. Or perhaps, it is the blue skies that (on occasion) Emerge from the bleak and lifeless clouds, like a pair Of azure eyes that (by chance) meet my own, Drowning all of the trials and aching. As if to say, “These few moments, Make this whole stupid day worthwhile.” Who says hearts can’t skip a beat? And oddly enough, through it all I find that I cannot: 1. Stop making mixtapes 2. Stop listening to love songs 3. Stop making mixtapes of love songs Side B Call it cliché, but Each time I seek To put to words how she talks, looks, moves; Each time I hope To engage with her in casual conversation; Each time I try To describe the majesty of the sun, Words seem trite. As if words themselves lack the ability to communicate This awkward, tender, warmth. This hope, this wish, this prayer. And yet, all things are possible, even a camel’s journey through the eye of a needle. But I hate to imagine how the camel feels Squeezed out in one long, painful, bloody trail. A mixtape has to be deliberate. The songs must vary stylistically: Hackneyed ballads, The lighthearted, the emotive A song or two (as not to make it too obvious) That say the things you wish you could communicate. Each one transitioning well From one to the other, Like days in a week and weeks in a season. My transitions are somewhat awkward. I’m working on that though. I think I’m making progress. The theme must be apparent, yet subtle. And artistic unity. Just like in life after all is said and done: We must always end where we began. Spring has sprung.