Sunday, 9 December 2007


Words they say are just like stones.
Alone, unbroken
Not weathered by time
Nor bound by expectations.
With the seasons gone by.
But I’m not.

Sometimes when I get to thinking,
Of the way you were carved
I slip, I fall
Away, Far away
From my mould they said he made for me,
Or maybe I made for myself.
See the way you look when they
Remember you.
Everything else is remembered
But I’m not.

Mother, is it safe for spring tonight?
Mother, will this
Pass me by?
There’s a fire today, deep in your eyes
Let’s call it the sun
Let’s call it
The sun today.
Where I came by as a thief,
And now am left a vagabond.

And this is beautiful like everything else
That lasts.
The last one to fade shan’t go away too fast.
Bitter taste on my tongue and figures lost in
The wilderness
And you and I are just,
Two moths
Dancing alone again,
Into the fire.

1 comment:

Badly Drawn Girl said...

what of the candle then..intriguer...dancing as well towards a death...why must love always lead us there?

love this poem of yours...much happiness became in reading it.