When you and I were summer, and the sky
was greyer than the green that grew between
my linden and your oaken strength, serene,
eternal as the shadows passing by.
You whispered me a question; my reply
was lost upon the winds of might-have-been
for change must come to every tranquil scene
and gifts from gods are not what they imply
Forever is a dream lost to the dawn
and temples fall to dust beneath the years
as roses split the stones and oceans dry;
yet boughs will bend and brave the tearing thorn
to claim the scars as treasured souvenirs,
and laugh until the summer, you and I.
freckled, spotted skin
the sunlight exposes
all the times this face has laughed
all the times this face has furrowed its brows
signs of wear, like a used leather bag
something so human
something so vulnerable
what is your story?
what secrets are buried deep in your pores?
We are made of puzzle pieces,
Shoved into place one by one.
One goes here, another here,
We'll put one there for no reason at all.
Some people find their fit right away.
Congratulations! You got it right.
Others are not so fortunate.
Their shape is jammed again
And again
And again
Into a space too small for their soul
Or a place too big for their purpose
One thing after another whittles slivers off our essence
each time we are jammed into the wrong space.
Sometimes, if you are unlucky enough,
You simply dissolve before you find what you are looking for.
Our lives will be extraordinary
We were born into this belief
Great things will happen to us
They promised
Of course the ideals of the spectacular
Developed and flourished as we grew
Growing wilder and deeper
Yet always blooming out of reach
So we began to consider
Whether these roots of hopes
Would thrive in our worlds
Or whether they would wither in the winter of reality
And so developed the wasted generation
A demise of wild talent
Lost to the failed dreams that raised us
Like cubs in the wilderness of the world
They say we all look beautiful
But really what's inside
They say that when you live you die
Or is it when you die you live
They say we are alive
They say that when you die you've lived a happy life
Or is it when you die you've been cut free to fly
They say that monsters don't exist, but really that's a lie
Maybe deep down in our bones a monster lives inside
It's connected to our soul, even when we die
maybe it's the cutting string that let us start out flight
Maybe it's the monster, that showed us what is light
From what look up to as death, maybe it is life
I wouldn't paint a thousand suns
For all they'd be is empty
Unless they are for everyone
But I guess one is plenty
There they are in the sky
Shining like new pennies
Once in a while
I see glimpse of light
The light at the end of the tunnel
The light of the future , freedom and happiness
Yes, It's still far out of reach
But until then
The glimpse of light is enough
But at days when I don't even see the glimpse of light, it gets hard
Very hard to imagine it
Very hard to believe that
there really was a glimpse of light in the first place
And it isn't just a little trick my mind is playing
At those days I have a decision to make
Do I keep going?
Do I ?
What keeps you going?
He asked me " where do you want to go?"
I would have said 'Take me home'
But then I remembered I didn't know where it's.
For most people home is a place with a beloved one
And for some it's a shelter from the cold.
For me it's more of a feeling.
The feeling you get when you hear your favorite song for the first time
Or that giddy feeling you get seeing your crush
Or the warmth you feel from a stranger's kindness.
But that would have been too hard to explain...
So I said " The Golden Gate. "
Have you ever felt like you belonged nowhere?
Never-ending lands ahead,
these giant rocks covered in green
I see on the other side of the coast,
are what once was a house.
Destroyed by the wind,
erased by the water,
just remainings that
remind home.
The grass is where ancients
were used to lay their heads.
Walking through the sites
for who once lived there,
just ruins of stones
it may seem.
Nothing replaces the campfires
after each storm.
The ferry approached the port
after the first rays of dawn.
The wind rose while
we dressed up cosy;
The town was still sleeping
so we sneaked around
the silent streets.
I looked through the windows
to find a sign of life, when
the wind was crawling
through the cracks of the wood
and the water was hitting the reef.
The coloured flags
hanging all over the main lane,
I thought of walking
in a ghost town,
Up, the train
down, the sea
loving the salty sound
the salty tears
on your face
Walking down at the beach
with our noses up.
The bridge is still looking
the seagull floating
through the damp clouds
It's still looking
from the past
to the future
Crossed like wrong words
on an old paper
that you wrote as love letters.
Sorrounded by roses,
the garden keeper is working hard
to keep them safe.
The large footpaths now look empty,
the blossoms are late this year.
He craves the time when
the gates are closing.
He can hear the silence of the garden,
just some echoes from the city.
He loves and trusts plants,
not like people.
Taking care of them is worth it,
he thinks.
They grow with love
and water.
He sees the results of his work.