A soul meanders,
Blossoms, bursts.
Silent night,
Hold me still,
You, yesterday, were a pretty thing,
Under liquored light,
Dancing upon ropes, of tangled treasure,
With fairy arms, you, pretty thing,
Said nothing, just the calm closure of your eyelashes,
Like a mirror with opened wings.
Speckled stars, speckled stars,
Tiara of Love,
Tiptoe, swan like, across shinning snow,
And find, warm hands;
The shape of parting sea,
To hold you, O Silent Night,
Sipping, our bottled memory.
To know that the world,
Is as colorful even now,
As it seems, in the vintage monochromes;
Silent in their chorus of a bygone time,
Is a sweet thought with sour taste,
For how are we to dwell and dissolve,
One with the eternal moment,
And yet be remembered,
As a sole flower in the bouquet,
If years away from now,
Fading against the flow,
We are to remain nothing more than a shade of each other.
Through you,
My empty hands,
I know the shape of this world.
Far too long ago,
I stood on a bridge,
In crowded solitude,
Counting stardust; those city lights,
Ignorant that it belonged,
Each for a man and his dream,
Limping endlessly, by alleys,
Of censored minds.