On the wind that weaves

 

I chased my dreams,

but they always seemed

to be fading into

the distant snow,

like footprints

of another winter's day.

Running away to

someplace

only you know.

 

I chased fantasies,

the reveries that grant smiles,

but every time I got close

the ground would shake, whilst

a chasm would open up

before me. One too vast to leap.

One too deep to stop my thoughts

from falling away from me.

 

I stood like a clinging vine

tethered on one side of this ravine,

watching angels standing so close, so fine,

but so much aching space between.

 

I just wanted to hold onto

the love that spoke

on the wind that weaves,

listen to her speak

and never leave.

 

I chased hearts that

never beat for me,

when the one inside

was crying out to be

loved. I ignored its rhythm,

built up a walled prison

to contain it in and

gave away the key.

 

I ignored my own tears,

so I could wipe away hers,

yet she never even saw

the pain within me.

Just the mask

disguising reality.

 

I stoked fires, using every

stray piece of my emotion

as kindling, to burn,

to keep her warm

when the coldness got inside.

But I was left empty.

My depleted reserves,

just a lone piece

of driftwood at sea,

too weatherbeaten

to ever be used for warmth.

 

I stroked the fires with my palms

and only felt ice upon my skin.