Sunday, July 18, 2010

So Soon

I still remember winter skies
The wind blown swift and chill
The glow of snow beneath the moon
And O, that it should pass so soon
While I return each night again
And find the peak of mem'ry flown
To ends that I shall never know

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

An Unlikely Expectation

I've been told once or twice that I have an empathetic ear. I've been pulled out of previously-made plans by friends - and sometimes strangers - who for some reason feel like they can trust me in moments of vulnerability or anxiety. I hear them out, and then I often take to saying what it is that I would find to be the most comforting were I in their place. Sometimes my words are unwelcome, sometimes they thank me and leave a happier person than when they came.

Then come the nights where I go up to my mountain, and I look at the stars, and I watch some of them blaze trails across the sky. Then I look out at the lights of a million sleeping people below me, and sometimes I'll tell them how I ache inside to hear what I would say to myself, were I in my shoes, and how tired I am of this noble farce and its lonely fa├žade.

They never respond, leaving me to ponder whether it truly is a selfish thing to ask.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

The Buried Child

We are children deep down
Buried beneath our proper faces
Which we turn and smile
Say pretty words that don't matter
We gossip in whispers so as not to offend
You tell me of her and how much she must like me
I retort with a tale of how he looks at you
And for the briefest moment, that shy child appears
In both of our eyes, peeking out with hope
As it hears exactly what is not said
What is not admitted or denied
(But never unconsidered)
What we won't say, what we can't
But what we dream to speak, and to hear