The Hope

Its the simple things
You do for me
A knowing glance, or two, or three
A brush of our hands
And a well planned note
I treasure the words
That for me you wrote
A stolen chance
To spend a minute in sight
To indulge in thoughts
Of your delight
At sitting near me
Of speaking to me
A tiny gift and the cup of tea
Made with care
The secret kiss behind a closed door
And the hope of more, and more
And the hope of so much more

Latitude Good Times

Tents pitched in the dark
Our little spot in a massive park
The gazebo raised if only a foot
The guy ropes stretched
With pegs to root.
Expectant hearts for the days ahead
Expectant bellies for morn's brekkie in bed
Bacon, bread, tea- oh make some for me!
Hat on, check! Wellies on, check!
Its past midnight- bt what the heck?
We're on holiday!!
Off we set, a merry crew
To check out the site
And go meet a few
In the dance tent where we let loose
Stomping our feet, to the beats
And screaming some tunes
Till our throats dried sore
Oh that feeling
Called "joy" called "hope" called "love" called "freedom"
Give it me once more!

Paint Me Gray

And I am forever waiting for some clarity
For some colour in the muddied grey
That you created on that day
The soft hues of love that you painted over
To hide the feeling
And blot out the possibilities
Of a prettier picture, a future
And all we are left looking at now
Are clouds of confusion
A slime of shame
And mountains of confusion
A colour too mixed-up to name
The truth too palapable to utter, we stutter
And a sensation too abstract to even mutter
A landscape of unknown reasons
Why you cant be with me, cant love me
And the waves of unknown reasons why
I cant be without you, cant love without you
Every touch and smile and word remembered
Engrained in a forgotten image, a mirage
To hold and treasure like every penny
Dropped
And found again
Like the drug I enhale and swallow
And swallow. And allow
The flooding of my veins
Breathing you in to my cold, cold core
Wanting for nothing more
Than a moment shared. The highs.
Yet, in your absence these illusions are
But puffs of air
Of flowers wilted without water
Forgotten in their vase
And the book left untouched
Allowed to gather dust. The rust.
Must I wait forever
For the next granted glimpse
Or do I turn away to glimpse no more
And live for forever without
You, and Me, and You, and Us
For we have been painted Gray
And for what of us?

Just a Reason?

And you talk and you talk
But your tongue feels fat
And you talk and you talk
But you dont know how to deal with that
That thats a hurdle and a challenge we will face
But you've lost sense of hope
Have abandoned the race
And the wall has come up to protect the feeling
Rather than speak truths that can kickstart the healing
And now its bottled up inside
Like another scar
To add to the many you have suffered so far
And you wont lose face in any future space
You have left the game, have abandoned the race
Because the wall has come up to numb the feeling
Yet you are the one left looking at a ceiling
In an empty room, and an empty life
Because you've pushed us all away
Out of fear of the strife
A fear of being revealed
Getting close
And we all know who will hurt the most
When you are left alone, alone, alone
Like the forgotten ghost
You are
Just a reason,
Never a season

"conscience does make cowards of us all...the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought"

The Ramblings

And we whispered sweetly through the night time- in the dark. But I could see your heart and I caught a glimpse of the person I knew and the reflection smiling back at me in your eyes of glass, of mirrors and that person was me. And we talked of the future and not much of the past- or was it the past and not much of the future? And like in a dream I drifted through the stories, through the pictures that faded and like a light on a lonely night-time walk to the place I now rest my head I look for you in the shadows. I follow you, I use you for my guide and a point to which I am heading- and my pace quickens through fear and cold and hope of more warmth in the grasp of your arms. Yet like the waves I crash again and again and again, losing myself to the tides lapping on the shore of white sands, the dust slips through my brittle little fingers and i shut my fist tightly in he last effort to capture just one grain of sand to hold forever in my pocket as I turn and spin and fall deepr and faster through the spaces in my life. And I still don’t know where I am heading or which way to turn to let the sun kiss my face and warm my heart. And all the faces in the crowd looking, looking, looking. And all the while people tell me you look pretty you look pretty you look pretty but all I need is you to tell me I look pretty. And take me by the hand and walk with me and I will follow you. And let me plant the seeds inside your chest and as the tree grows I will nurture it, I will be your shelter and eat from the fruits that bloom and smell the sweet flowers that blossom from you. And like children in the sandpit- I just want to hold your hand. I just want to touch your face. And I can’t find the words when you peer into my eyes- for there are no words when only your body can describe to me how you feel. And how do you feel? Nervous? Excited? You smile at me to fill the silences. And the silences scream so loudly and you taste so, so sweet.

On Another's Sorrow Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan an infant fear? No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! And can he who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief & care, Hear the woes that infants bear, And not sit beside the nest, Pouring pity in their breast; And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant's tear; And not sit both night & day, Wiping all our tears away? O, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! He doth give his joy to all; He becomes an infant small; He becomes a man of woe; He doth feel the sorrow too. Think not thou canst sigh a sigh And thy maker is not by; Think not thou canst weep a tear And thy maker is not near. O! he gives to us his joy That our grief he may destroy; Till our grief is fled & gone He doth sit by us and moan.
W. Blake