An ode to a day yet to be

 

A gift in words, a poem to say

what the flowers would try to convey,

if instead of just swaying in the heat

they could be words on the breeze.

An ode to a day yet to be,

where we travel any roads

that care to greet our steely hearts.

And if the gravel should get between our toes

and the heat from the burning sun should

try to overcome,

then we will shelter in our own arms,

for love once tied will never be undone.

 

Just a few words

to share how when I breathe air

I feel my lips saddened

by the lack of your presence in the

soft pillow atmosphere,

How my lips despair

that they are alone

Parted waiting for your heart to become  

the final part of this circuit of love,

to spark the dreams to start.

Those fairytale journeys embarked

upon clouds in the stardust skies.

 

So I’ll gift a flow of words

that once heard

will speak only to you,

for my love is a two person play,

It doesn’t demand a cast of actors,

or an audience of many.

Just your eyes looking into mine,

as the silhouette of you

becomes more defined,

as you step closer through

the moonlit halo that encircles you.

All I care about is here.

All I care about is true.

 

Our hearts beating in time,

our eyes never looking away

as your lips touch mine

and the credits roll. 

The end of the beginning

of this perfect play.

A stage show musical

where our hearts dance

across brightly lit stages of fairytale dreams.

 

And in some fancy stage craft magic

we will be whisked away,

to the stars above,

that sway and sing

their songs of love

through the rafters.

For you are the star I see

when I look to the sky for answers,

You are the love

that dances in the moonlight.

You are everything right

in a world that feels left behind.

You are forever

and that is where I want to fly.

Marching into destruction

 

Can we hang on to this

moment of peace? 

Just us in the moonlight please.

I’m sick of hanging my head in shame,

whilst outside our windows

the world is screeching in pain.

Can we just hold it all in?

Let the noise ease.

I pray for us.

I say of course

that I’m not fussed

but the war drums

are calling us.

 

Those marching feet

Left, right. left, right.

Both sides

want to fight

but us on the outside

just want to let the world

unite.

Untie those binds

of generations,

the patriotism

for our slave nations.

 

I won’t pick up your stones.

I won’t throw a rock.

I won’t look down a barrel stock

at another human running in shock

when the torn sky

cries its fire down upon them.

 

Your propaganda

doesn’t work with me.

I won’t stand wearing our flag,

it doesn’t represent me.

I resent the hate

shown in my name,

and I won’t stain

this beautiful world

with blood,

nor be a mouthpiece for

those that think that we should.

For I believe

humanity should be saved,

for our souls can all align,

if we tune out the division

forced over the airwaves.

 

I won’t pound my fist

to the beat of your drum,

I won’t hiss and screech

at someone born under the same sun

just because I’m told to fight.

I won’t believe a word said

by those on the left or the right,

by those that have proven

time and time again

that they can never be trusted.

Instead, I’ll open my arms

and say ‘take refuge within’

for this is our world

and we can all live side by side,

enjoying the ride

or we can fight and die

never to see another sunrise fill our eyes.

I know which one I’d choose.

In the beginning

 

In the beginning

there was love and music.

The truth that ticks

in the tocks of the universal clocks.

Two elements of our atomic hearts.

Before light, before dark.

Before earth, and the stars.

 

Before the sun and the moon

There was the galactic tune.

 

The song of the emptiness.

 

The rhythm of time, before time

had even begun to chime.

 

In the beginning there was nothing

but the beat. That rhythmic ripple

in the cosmic seas, and as the

waves emerged from nothing,

they added their

own delicate percussion.

 

The dust began to swirl,

forming worlds. Chiming along,

woodwinds to the song.

In the distance the spheres

sung in echoes.

A choral explosion of

of expression, notes

that rose like hills and fell

in crescendo

like the frayed ends of time herself,

somewhere far in the untold future.

 

The song sung of love.

For one. For all.

For now, and for future.

For yesterday, today

and days yet to be.

It sung of you and me,

it sung of they and them,

he and she.

Beast and beauty.

Feast and hunter.

It sung of days yonder.

And in all

it sung of laughter and wonder.

 

In the beginning there was song.

In the beginning there

was a note played into the void,

and the void sung along.

In the beginning there was a chord,

A striked chime across

the burgeoning worlds,

one of hope, acceptance and love.

 

And in the end, there

will be a scratched record,

warped and wobbling,

a distant recording,

faint but still playing.

As the needle repeats

the phrase over and over.

Love. Love. Love.

Before fading away

into the failing galaxy.