Danny James

Tag: music

490

Would you believe that the last time these skinned knees healed
It no longer amazed me like it used to and I hate to say it but…
Things they suddenly made a simple kind of sense
The horror, the mad ness, the helplessness of it all
That there is indeed beauty as well as blood
In life’s ocean of disasters
These shattered dreams and dead promises
Will not stand forever like graves
But one day grow legs and slowly walk away
In between the tornadoes and stomped on untrue love letters
There will be those shining gentle moments
Like the last page in your favorite book or
How badly I miss my mother
But how much I’ve come to love my father
And you scream that it’s been forever since
You witnessed blue skies
But trust me when I say that yes
This too will pass
It will quiet
Literally nothing stays the same
Just look to the clouds and you shall see
Always changing forever moving on again and again
Life’s one worthwhile guarantee

Bane, Place In The Sun
It All Comes Down To This

392: For you are mortal

A calm and foreboding undertow, building to its urgency rather beautifully as like the golden bloom of a setting sun. All the promise of doom is threaded yet with a most polite and peaceable reassuring, that even the end can be met well. Though not all things will reveal instantly their intentions true, the surface hesitates you, and the depths unclear; you must anyway cross this river.
Obeying the press of primal loom, take gladly the trails nigh the crescendos curve and ride with joy the sorrowful rhythms of reminisce. The haunting hymns of gaiety gone by and a loved ones laughter past. Turn your look with an optimism to the rainbow arc flung further than it can reach intact. But that moment in the middle, how it shines. Bold and spectacular. Nothing more glorious, nothing held back. Reach for yours the same. Spend yourself.

Surry Hills, Sydney 2014

Surry Hills, Sydney 2014

364: March

By a failure in the middle or some componential devastation, the chords precisely though struck, warp their resonation in vague and sombre swerves and lovely arcs unreliable like a firework and paint your face with flame licked fascination! And she dances still, unperturbed. In happy chains, O graceful prisoner in a dateless sentence, tied in tones which loop and sway hypnotistic imperfections ascending a strange marvellousness and an imperial insight into the world like a dream the world needs and cannot enter but by consent of celestial law. By energies grim and secret, pruning patterns as would instruct by disaster. What wasn’t expected or supposed to but had to happen. The heavens know not else but to rain down relief on the rest, for unique and outrageous though, – by crashes shaped and of leftovers put together, can no dark thus in Her reside. There is no limp in Her song like would Her bent pirouette depict, but survived She dances on and on an entirety of sewn misshapen fragments out of an order broken. Of love and stitches, and smiles mightier than tears. No scathing, no catastrophes. A knotting of lost opposites flourished in bind. Orphanage of a thriven. O colourful distortion, perfect disharmony, a stamina in fault is found, beautiful accidents meant to be.

Music BoX Ballerina

music box Broken ballerina

music box dancer