Impressionism of Expressionism

Expressing lost spaces.

Contracting shadows of art to entertain our idol times. Like winds of old, glancing your bare neck whispering without tempo.

The violin cries like a frightened soul, of death's true nada, life no more.

Memorizing your dance when John Lennon was killed, on stage off to the tables.

With all qualities, in different quantities in separate combinations you each are very alike of unique hues of tone to each observer their own.

You met another, her story you found, her nothing no more in march. Finding her castle to fill with comfort, chatter and love.

Your laugh isn't old enough to forget, nor your face or hug. You were always so young, so in demand.

Another friend lead the way, for him life was famous. Big Jim in song, birthday bashes in July, light man for the stars you were his groovy groupie.

Three best friends, gone long enough today to remember they may have became brand new in forty seven days, again.

 

 

never more, only me listening to Strauss