the ribbon I caught
one midnight
    in the flower of my youth,
  I pass down with aged hands.

Bright, vibrant colors,
and smells of perfumed sweat,
frayed ends
   and worn creases,
the ribbon I carry
   is still pregnant with memory.

I think of all the things you've yet to do
and of all hope and hurt
that share equal billing
and I envy the journey.

In my time,
I've seen old eyes
reflect the hollow cadre
that passed as life.

But I've also seen
youth in old men,
and old hearts that are dancing.

Remember,
there is no such creature as luck.
Everything good or bad is constructed or conspired.
A poet's heart helps,
  as does a gift of listening without response,
   perfumed pillow slips makes the nights bearable
                         and music...always the music.




One day you will find your voice.
Make sure someone hears it.

That is my sage.
That is my song.
That is my testament.

One more:
The tickle is more fun,
but the scratch is more important.

Take care the ribbon.
It carries everything you touch
       or touches you.
Take care the heart.
It is the poet's only weapon.
Take care the words.
They are your evidence
of who you are.

Learn how to tickle,
  learn when to scratch,
and change fonts now and then.

Know this, young friend,
It truly was the best part of the movie.