I Know
I dream of you
Trying to touch your skin
I find only others
I know you are there
I can taste you on the wind
See you in my dreams
We talk, laugh, love
I know you are there
We haven’t met yet
Wait for me?
Shadows At My Door
They still come from time to time,
Shadows knocking at my door,
I know them now, they and I
We’re old friends, shadow and I.
I wonder from time to time,
Of life only within the light,
But where would sunshine be,
Without the cold of dark?
I fought them once you know,
Spectres of memory,
Only blood in the surf,
But ghosts do not ever bleed.
I turned to love instead,
Made friends with darkest self,
And found shadows fleeing,
To corners barely whispered.
I live in the light now,
Free of the shadows of time,
And when they come to my door,
I answer with open arms.
There was music playing in the stars
When your skin brushed against mine
And time stopped the planets
For you, the sun will always shine
Your name, from bird’s lips flew
As gentle as morning dew
And every flower in the garden grew
Leaning inwards, just for you
You’re a single breath
Of moist and heady air
In a world long grown cold
Like the flash of a solar flare
That brush, your gentle touch
Becomes the air, the earth, the light
The water, the spirit and all things right
If I could tell you just how much.
I no longer know why I walk these halls
Dust, a decade deep, thick upon all
My fingers trail through hope and memory
But the dust is ash and thick on me
The chains I chose, not feeling their weight
Clink and rattle, the music of my fate
Had I but had the foresight of past tense
Had I but listened not to reason and sense
Still, though I know not why
“Not yet,” I say, “it’s not time to fly.”
Clink and rattle, a lifetime of poor taste
when the very key hangs at my waist
Sounder of Grecian tragedy
Holder of mocking irony
In pursuit of freedom’s reign
From lip to lip, a word slain
The old Gods must laugh
The Titan freed from wrath
Where a single chain
Once broken, may have restrained
Bound by lies instead
The few cast the many in dread
For no greater prophecy
Than self proclaimed philosophy
A future of fearful shadow
Rose from down below
Gripped with raw red hand
Those most precious in the land
Fallen with promise waisted
For want of false freedoms raised
A symphony of melody
Like the wind
Through tall trees
No greater truth to bend
But their whisper
Like dead leaves
For small things to find
And finding them
Sustenance they lend
High above on broad wing
Voices raised did send
With naive hope raised
Themselves they praised
Small things they could not transcend.
Our world is a dirty place
Whitewashed by an entire race
With shit smeared walls
Hastily erected where everyone falls
With blinders on and torches raised
Foul rhetoric from torn throats abound
Those who would wash clean
Written in blood and still unseen
From crosses held high
And martyrs flung on the sty
History rolls, turns and shouts
To themselves they never flout
Of all the crimes ever committed
Ignorance is strangely omitted
To heal all wounds
Weeping, filled with sound
For history we must atone
Not one, for none is alone
Together, eyes open wide
A single voice to stem the tide
