To you (valentines)

 

I danced with a thought,

a spark of imagination.

An ember of excitement

burning inside of me.

I saw the smile which you wear,

the words that you share,

the thoughts you allow

to circle your lustrous hair,

and in momentary flirtation

with the life I’d love to share

I was sent drifting into the air.

Right through the stratosphere,

into a place where these magic

dreams can come true.

 

I was thinking about you

as I lay daydreaming on a stray cloud.

I hear my voice speaking aloud,

words I’d so long kept inside,

'I long to hold you, to never let go,

to feel your breath embracing mine.

For my love is deep and true

and I’m freefalling into it with you' 

 

And as I hold on tightly to the daydream,

in which hearts so closely beat,

I whisper sweet messages

to the sky to please catch me please,

for if I fall any deeper, I'll surely drown.

 

For when I look into your eyes

I only see destiny. A place I long to be,

a place to build memories

and explore a future with you.

I wish to hand you my words,

for they describe how you mean so much,

and in such a short time you have made me

wish upon the moon and the sky, to once again fly.

 

And if the moon and stars can hear

the whisper of hearts, they will hear the words

that my mouth lays out.

And of those words there are but three,

a simple set to memorise.

For they are truth, they sit within me.

And though nobody knows

what may be on the cards,

you will always be the queen of hearts,

and I’d love to gift these three simple words

because they are the ones that sing

under my surface like the birds in the trees.

 

For I want you to know that you are loved,

that when I look at you, I see the sun,

for your light burns so bright

and it is the most glorious illumination.

So, would you accept this three worded

valentines gift from me?

I love you.

Circa '94

 

In that nicotine-stained room.

by the dim yellow shaded light,

the young man craved the silence

that only comes from an empty bottle,

a silent night,

where his own soundless sighs

no longer deafened him

With the heaviness they hold over him.

 

TV news was discussing a grunge icon

who ended it all with a shotgun.

Such a tragic waste, he though absently,

as his own scattershot

thoughts crashed around internally.

He wanted to empty the contents of his brain

like the scattered photos

that remained from a bad romance,

one where love turned to fear,

and the crack of eggshells

is all that you can hear

every time your feet start to pace.

Where all you are left is the bitter sting of pain,

the taste of blood,

and regret that you chose so wrong,

that you trusted too long,

that you let your heart

get dragged along for too many miles.

 

For love was a battlefield,

said someone in a song,

well, his war was over and done,

this he swore to his room

full of nothing and no-one.

He was just an unknown soldier

in a field of exes.

His race was run. The heartache

he swallowed down, tasted bitter

like the heartless liquor he was craving.

 

If only he knew the story wasn’t yet done.

He, still so young, had so many journeys to go on,

but in that moment of flooding, he gave in.

and his demons were just starting to rise up.

to take him by the hand

and lead him on a merry dance to hell and back.

 

I wish I could speak to him

and tell him that time

is kinder than it seems.

That in some future place,

he will see some happiness,

and he will live his dreams,

and that those soundless sighs

become less deafening over time.

Where the magic is real

 

It must be so sad to go through life

convinced that you know everything,

that your opinion is always right,

that there is no magic, no fairies

just out of sight, no fantasy,

just your view of reality,

no other species in space just trying

to survive, or traveling across the stars in

a shiny silver ride.

Only this day-to-day grind

and a bell that chimes

when time finally

comes to an end.

 

Everything must just drag,

when all that you think,

is all that can be true.

That there are no mysteries alluding you,

that you are the pinnacle of being,

the ultimate moment, no future reveal,

no mystical miracle,

no peeling back the layers and

finding a whole new world beneath,

within which whole new stories begin.

 

Your days must be so shallow,

like a stream in which to paddle

when the whole ocean is just over the next

hill along the path that you travel.

And that brain of which you are so proud

is not being utilised enough to explore

the vast cosmos of thoughts

that can conjure up

something more imaginative

than just the postman at your door.

 

It is quite sad to see people so close minded.

They dare not just let life be,

they need the order and structure

to fit only their belief,

and if it doesn’t then they bend the ears

of anyone that will listen.

Just trying to convince them

to become as empty as they,

and only see the world in grey,

when to me there is

a whole rainbow of colours

and a banquet of exciting tastes,

where the magic is real 

if you just let yourself play

with the thought

that you can’t be right every day