Let me walk alone this night,
Like an ember with edges bright,
And fall with every passing gust,
Of shadow wind,
That frightens first.
Let me walk alone this night,
Till my silhouette is out of sight,
As leaves fall before my feet,
Where the sound of world,
And my silence meet.
I saw the man today,
Yet had nothing to say,
He seemed the same as ever,
Just older everyday.
Each day I greeted morn,
With his form upon the tide,
Years I saw him thus,
With his shaggy dog beside.
He loved that dog, I know,
As he whispered things to it,
Still the dog disobeyed his master,
For he stood when told to sit.
Once I saw them dancing,
An hour without fail,
Only when they stopped I concurred,
That they were chasing each other’s tail.
I hope I see them tomorrow,
And all days yet to rise,
For they give me deep solace,
Life’s sermon from the unwise.
I woke up today, ages ago,
Stood up for my prayer,
The day had dawned as usual,
But the man was not there.
I crossed the road in haste,
Feeling a crippling dread,
And stared with mute surprise,
At the empty makeshift bed.
I stand by my footpath,
The night has fallen down,
My feet hurting and sore,
From running all round the town.
Just when I wanted,
To calm my weary feet,
My dog whimpered softly,
Demanding his hard earned treat,
I laughed at his fallen face,
And leaned close upon his ear,
Saying with untamed glee,
Secret my do hear.
It was my mocking test,
I have passed and you did rightly fail,
I took you through the town,
Chasing your own tail.
How far can you see,
Into this fading night,
Doth the smouldering wastelands;
Sacred to the ghosts of symbols,
Yield shadows as you reach,
By it’s fading edge and listen,
The old echo of mute prayers,
Shatter the purity of silence,
And raise words harsh and illuminating.Doth these new voices,
Predict an arrival,
Of an age where,
Men designs men,
As the cold knife, naked with naive desire,
Drips with exalted impunity,
Curious to carve,
Another face, another being,
So scarred by errors of life,
That being immortal is the only answer?
If I speak to you,
In cotton tones,
And bring down rain and crystals and stars,
Bury them deep, deeper; till the voices above, can no longer shape, can no longer scar,
My gift to you,
Will you spare a hand, and help me grow,
This tree of ours,
In the heaven below.
The dove was pure white,
Yet it was the raven that survived,
The silver in the night, the silver in the night.
If the days are cold,
And the nights are bright,
And the sky’s too tall for your deep sight,
If your feet dance on without any song,
And can’t remember if its soon or far too long,
If your face all smile when your lips do too,
If the seed you planted, now shelters you,
And the dreams you held have passed your hand,
If the mysteries of life you understand,
And you look in the mirror and see the other face,
And need to learn once more to tie your shoelace,
If the dusk don’t scare you as much as the dawn,
And know you can win with a single pawn,
If you can close your eyes, and recite your home,
If you can close your doors and still can roam,
If they came from far and in you seek,
The wisdom you have but struggle to speak,
Know then friend and shed all fear,
The ocean awaits, you are here.
She stood upon the stage,
Bold eyes peeling the crowd,
And what tears did she drew,
When she laughed all alone,
Uncaring of the truth,
That the joke is to be shared aloud.
I walk this heathen path,
With naught but wind by my side,
And perchance you find me going,
Keep aside, keep aside.
For I take no bard on this journey,
This road is not to be sung about,
But a trail to be failed and found,
By those with the heart to hold the stars.
And so you shall see at the level ground,
Where the heaven and hell are smote down,
With the arms as hard as anvils,
Of souls sought out to save,
Know this free valley, O witness,
This is the kingdom of the brave.
What would I give to be a stranger
To myself
And dip a finger in the gentle nectar
Of my whirlwind mind;
Smooth as a drunk pebble,
Without edges, without angles,
Skipping across the fallen horizon,
Like a star amidst cinder,
Soaking smoke and traces, of kingdoms and caverns, alike.
I wonder how my mind would taste,
With all those dreams, sweet as apricot,
With all those desires, burning,
Bitter regrets lining the base of this vessel,
Sour memories rising as steam.
Mayhaps, It would feel like water,
Like a single sip of wine,
Or tears wrought as ice,
As ashes gone cold through the night.
What would I give to be a stranger?
Perhaps,
The way I see the world,
And hear it’s autumn chattering,
And smell the skin of ages,
And feel the broken fabric,
Like black upon white pages.
What would I give to be a stranger?
I wonder. I so wonder.
