Wednesday, 23 September 2009

What is this? (where ice warms to smiles)

Your eyes, they stare deep
And your lips, they kiss hard,
And I whisper;
"I don't want it to be this."
You move, move an inch,
A voice, soft as stone,
And a tear of air.
"And what, what is this?"

To you, it is
Love. Or desire. Or just the need
to have interlaced fingers.
It is the blue of the
Heart of the fire
before the seasons turn to ice.
It is the knowledge that upon this garish earth
Where snow melts to war,
Ice warms to smiles,
You will burn as many hearts as will love you.

To me, it is surrendering to a
beautiful storm;
Letting the thunder grip me, open palmed.
But thinking,
Always thinking:
What, what is this?

Thursday, 17 September 2009


I lie on this ground of fallen love, and I think
We’ve come so far.
So far for little sparks to light;
so hard for us to burn, and yet
we have.
If I told you, I know you’re next to me,
I’m just lost within myself,
your footsteps would barely touch the ground.
You would be gone, and I would be left.
But the world, it wouldn’t stop turning.

So I won’t say a word.
I’ll lie here, staring up to a big expanse
we pretend we understand.
And I’ll stay here until the frost settles,
And you’ll still be next to me.
Lying. On the icy ground. Waiting for an excuse to leave.

I wish when your eyes look up,
You could see the sky I’m seeing.

See that in between those stars
there is nothing. Darkness and mysteries and nothing.
And so those tricks of light, they must mean

And so don’t you see? This, here, it’s not just you and me.
It’s you
And me
And this darkness and mystery and nothing between us.
These stars, they aren’t just mine;
Take some and Set yourself on fire.
And think, for once, what is the point?
When really, all we are doing is lying down
On a frozen ground
And waiting for the ice to melt. But we're already burning.

So hard for little sparks to light,
To burn,
To die.
My footsteps barely touch the ground.
But the world, it won’t stop turning.