My beautiful shelf

If it was not for your braveness, I would still clench the dark, unwilling to bare myself to the light. I would whisper secrets in the ears of the vast unseen, to winds that set sail and drop my words without care. The words would sink to the bottom of rivers, seas, oceans. They would slide down glaciers and be lost amongst growing spring grass of fields on Himalayan highs. The winds would not think to nurture my fears, words of concern and insecurity. The winds would do what winds must do: fly to cover every valley, every mountain top, every head white or blonde.

If it was not for you, I would keep my heart cold, chilled, to save it from the fear of the inevitable, unstoppable thawing. I would bandage the heart and hide it, muffle its strong beating, hush its desire to be seen. Then I would use words to trick it into believing its time has not come yet. That red was not the colour it looked best in. Cool and slow, blue from the frozen stillness is how its beauty best manifested. Our chats would be murmurs, between my heart and me.

If it was not for your pure spirit, I would still wage wars with the world. I would keep my sword drawn and ready all my muscles to fight evil should it appear. I would seek allies in forests and mountains. I would convince trees and four legged friends to join my venture to purge the world of men and beasts who bow to dishonesty. Then with thunderous force my allies and I would appear at dawn, from the misty beginnings of the morning, from amidst dense forests, deep seas, heavy overcast skies, we would shout, sing, clap, we would preach and dance through each day to find the thread of evil. To attempt to nip, pluck, stem the thought from growing roots in every man, every child, every aged soul that whimpers “I am on fire”.

If it was not for your beautiful heart I would believe that barren lands can never heal, can never grow green again. I would sit on boulders great enough to never be moved and gaze at the dust scattered below my feet. I would converse with the colour grey, try to understand where it was coming from and how long it planned to stay. The footprints would stay for days, I never wanted to quarrel, to ask why they cannot be covered with velvet grass. Only in my mind would the streams and flowers of a thousand colours come back. In dreams that were never dreamt, in eyes that lost all colour, succumbed to a life in black and white. Life wounded, unmoved would stay still, barely able to smile at a shooting star, barely able to wave to a curious child. Then the nothing before my eyes would start to turn into something.

If it was not for your endless hope, I would have disappeared from sight. Little by little I would have taken my steps towards the walls that consumed. Eyes unclear from tears, I would have closed the doors. One after the other. I would have shut my ears and never heard the melody of your voice softly calling “by my side, walk with me”.   

I don’t have many and I don’t have much, but if it wasn’t for you, I would not have anything at all.

Crazy amazing

Here we are looking back, lost in memories and kind encounters. Seemingly unmoved by the unmeasured exuberance these times have left us with. We forgot. Now we remember those precious days. Lifted from the earth so careful. Leaving the shapes of our wild bodies in the ground, wrapped in fallen leaves. You are incredibly warm. Always. The holes held us safe, covered by boulders that dented and leaned a little towards me, then you. How we were is soon forgotten, what we have become takes over the way we started. Standing tall in the middle of a field, heart filled with truth, eyes glimmer from the honesty that we let fall into each others’ hands. Here is mine, it is bare. I catch yours as you gently let go of the string that ties it to your heart. Never did I imagine a three piece suit more fitted to the occasion. The moment you confess is the moment I do too.

These memories will rust, grow outdated and old, leave only traces of their once magnificent selves. Over time we will master how best to recall that moment, that exact moment when we both knew. Knew strong and true that this would be for us, that nobody else could do. Each second will become tarnished, bruised and forgotten. Save for a day when the skies clear and the winds die down, save for that one day when we will be granted unclouded memory of the beginning, we will never fully agree. You will never see how I see and I will never know how you know. We will sail in an endless sea and hunger for a quiet shore.  

I am looking at you, unbelievably strong. The now grips you, pulls you close much closer than you thought possible. Once you resisted, you no longer do. Hope grows in you like a thundering echo that forms after a glorious shout hits both sides of a canyon. The sunlight blinds me, you arrive. Out of nowhere, there was only dust before. My eyes trick me, the greens are violent reds, the blues are rivers of crimson, the greys have disappeared to be replaced by blinding whites. The calls I hear are alluring, never have I wanted to resist less. This is how I see you, true. This is how I want you, honest. Maybe you are a passing traveller, maybe you are a settler. Maybe your song will fill my heart, maybe you will trace your steps to different beats. Maybe I can only see you now, the haze will soon cover you. But I will not move. I may bend, from time to time I may give in to weakness or a more charming melody, but I will never turn. I will never turn.  

This is how I remember. You somewhere far away, me surrounded by trees and birds. Your words travel to find me, my heart leaving in such happiness to search for yours. Then the meeting and great collide. Everything around us fell, exploded, bloomed, ripened in unison. I never want to tell myself anything different than the truth. I never want to look back and not see what we have now. I never want to cage you to remember this as anything else than it is. 

In this moment we are held, carried by a light breeze, drifting in unmeasured grace and unbelievable love. 

A better burden

What hold this has on me, has on you. How silently it has arrived and gripped us to never want to leave. The distance dwarfed in a moment, the colours merged to a bright white or a heavy black. The difference was lost on me mostly. You have freed up parts of yourself for me, to kindly wait, to kindly change what time has done to you, to me. I am still bound, slow to move with your pace. We must run, but hurry where? We must stand still, but wait for the day to end? You have shown unthinkable braveness and gently bent down to pick me up, to gather my ghost-like body from the ground. Then we took off together, began a journey we seldom knew was waiting. You have bent with a straight back, I have allowed myself to be lifted, put upright.

We are two sparrows, battered by the winds and rain. We are helpless birds tossing in a storm, strong enough to stay alive, too weak to remember why. Just as I give up, you arrive to hold me. Just as you close your eyes in sweet defeat, I appear to keep you flying if only for a little while. Then you whisper you are tired, bone tired. I see how you have lost the secrets that bettered your heart, that have showed your spirit how to shine. I see the wounds and know the hurt. I feel the tears that never leave your bright blue eyes. I know the hurt that leaves your body in unseemly instances, when it is still, when it is finally dark. I feel the pain that you hide and share. I hold you to ease the memory of the long and treacherous day. I hold you for the new, for the old to come and sooth not wound. I hold you and wait in endless patience for the heal to come. Suddenly, with much waiting, the way forward is shown.

These are my scars, the bruises of my soul. I have parts you know, some you will never see. There are things that you already feel and I may never discover. The secrets I have kept for so long are slowly in the daylight, uncovered and bare. My frail body and unfinished soul wait for your every word. Wait the touch of your kind words in the daylight, wait for the gentle caresses of your soul at night. Your own saving has to be put on hold until you save me. I arrive as a wet bird at your doorstep, barely able to make a sound. With the biggest heart I have ever seen you take me, dry my unsure eyes, bandage my fragile wings, kiss my broken beak to safety, to health. I am much work, I am much time taken, I am in need of much care. The sunrise helps, reminds me I am alive, shows you the joy in mending for an instant. Mending for someone else. While you tell me of your troubles to calm my worried soul, I feel that I must grow stronger, heal quicker for you. This flight we must take together and soon. Forgive me if I am unsure, take no notice if I am sure too quickly. I am drawn to your sadness and your strength, I may never be able to let go. All this I am forcing you to take on, forcing you to bring the numb back to life. I worry in the day, I worry at night that it may be too much. But I hum and hope that you can lay your head beside my better burden until the heal has come.

Measures of your love

You worry too well. You uncloak the fury with amazing haste. Bare bones and crippled souls stare back at you and the lights are dimmer than you remember. The house is silent, it has been for years. The creaking of the floorboards echo a soothing sound for your soul. The hungry heart escapes the wind-blown cracks on the wall: breeze that chills the air for an instant. The footsteps are soft, almost unheard. The traces of past doings appear on mirrors and mattresses, just the way you hoped they would never do. The curtains must remain drawn, there is something new in the making. The old moulds into the seemingly strange but you plunge and carry the torch to pass on the flame. The eternal flame of your wondrous heart.

These are the seeds that are softly sowing by your side. Hurriedly taken, hollow parts left closed away in rooms and boxes. The precious heart broken to pieces on the floor. The sun set and rose without you ever looking up. The wind blew and the house sheltered you. The grass grew and the leaves of trees turned from green to brown. Then the rain appeared, you heard it fall on the roof, heard its plea to enter through the windows. In your heart’s stillness you recognised the faces that have unwillingly left. The colours changed on the wall, the brightness of your spirit dimmer, the eyes once so curious now tear filled with each memory lost. The pain unthinkable, the motions of letting go breeding sorrow. Always.  

The secret time holds appears seldom. You wait it out and slowly see that from the cliff where you thought yourself standing there is a bridge growing. Familiar faces line the path that you must now take. This you must do for yourself. This you must teach your heart, the badly hurt, bruised and always aching heart. Aching for the missing parts that have been veiled for the hope of a better fate. The little hands will hold you, stronger than you think they can. The little smiles will greet you, fuller than you hope they can. The little hearts will fill the space missing in your big, beautiful heart, truer than you ever wish they could. The sun will forget to set, will stay to shine past the hour that needs to see you peacefully slumber. The fortunes that you hold will become full and unbearable the thought of loss. The moments cannot linger, the physics of time passing must make every instant temporary, but by the time the fire dies down you will have known how much you hurt, how much you count the loss as gain. Your grace and love float on the murky waters of a restless sea. Your bearings are sometimes lost, you steer with truth towards the unwavering shore. Nothing breaks the force and faith with which you hold the beacon of hope. In the wholeness I admire the unending measures of your abundant love.

The anchor and the wave

Open your eyes

I cannot call myself unfortunate. I cannot start to confess to crimes or deceits I have made my own. I cannot part with evil, I cannot bow in destitution. Not entirely. I cannot burden you with my plights; I cannot trespass on your hospitality. I will not share the source of my unending agony, but in all honesty, I might. I will speak of my misfortunes to you, only you. I will whisper to keep the sorrow abound at bay, I will go mute when I see you can bare no more. I will be ashamed at how petty my troubles are compared to yours. I will make out my sad circumstance to be nothing more than a phase, a mere moment of bad if not worse luck. You will be kind. Kind enough to not judge, kind enough to seek my merits and dismiss my fears as hapless children of my imagination. You will try to understand and hold my truthful tears when I can continue no more. You will wait with me, slowly as the day ends, slowly to usher in a new beginning. I will be glad but burdensome all the same. Much obliged but muddled in untangled affairs. Certain of my imminent and inevitable demise.

In my world there are aches, there is sorrow. In me there is sadness and yearning. Longing for a way and desperately hoping to find the path. Knowing fully the extent of my capabilities but stretching and bending to see them grow. Being content with the confines of a habitual practise but aching most every day with the want for more. The physical pain blinding, the yearning unleashing tears. In the darkness and solitude the empty roars to shake the rhyme. Useless. The duelling dwarfed talents keep stirring the otherwise calm waters. I listen and wait. When the moment seems appropriate I reach for a tool to capture the shouts and movements of their courteous dance. Rarely is it a success, rarely can I do justice to the warring inside. The talents bestowed are wasted and fallen before they could arise. For that I am to blame. Why try. It seems unjust to force the talents to pour out through this talentless vessel. It seems unjust, it seems selfish in its worth. That it may very well be, I cannot be relied upon to decide, for that I need you. Sway with me until you feel these words gain worth. Sway to feel their rhythm and plight. Sway to see the truth with open eyes.

I shan’t take much more of your time, I apologise. These phrases have not helped my case. I am to never confess these fears again, but surely I know I will break a promise of this kind. My part could well be left undone, the world would not see great loss. You would save time and I tears. The words and ideas would surface from another pen, another’s efforts. All would not be lost, better still, all would be moulded to a different phrase, beat, to a different mind’s interpretations. I should let go. I should make haste and let go. I am a thief, a dishonest robber of ideas and words for my own benefit. I snatch them away from better talents, make them worthless in the end, release them into the world unready, ill formed, unprepared. Shapeless and haphazard they do damage but only to themselves. I hurry them to arrive unready and then bask in their untimely appearance as if they were gold. As if the light reflected was more than beams dancing on the surface of worthless glass.

Here is my plight: forgive me. Please forgive me for writing and forgive me for making you read. Forgive me for enslaving these words and forgive me for stealing their frail, sparrow-like bodies from others who could be better owners. Forgive me for my inability to cease. Forgive me for my future endeavours. Forgive me for taking much too much of your time. Forgive me for these open eyes. They are a testament to the words being alive. Forgive me kindly, forgive in time.

Every king in every kingdom

There are no reasons to the events that have swept through. Sadly, there are no rational reasons, no acceptable explanations. The irk that throbs impatiently in the palpitated heart cannot be calmed or silenced with words that leave the mouth. Useless desires and blindly aimed spearheads line the way but there is nothing and no-one to offer explanation. The anger turns to sadness over time. Silent, almost unapproaching, surley unbecoming. It crushes the soul and second by second crushes the dreams. We sit wrapped in desolate stillness. The hand that you grip is just a memory, a lifelike imitation of the one that held you back. The water reflects our faces, barely moved by the gale force winds. Words have not left our mouths for minutes if not hours. In this union we wait for time to pass, slowly. At least we are alive.

The road was unkind, the sun unmercifully glowing. We took the summer days with ease, carelessly for granted. Hiding behind the magnificent light was the uncertain, the great darkness. We harnessed the nectars from the fields in bloom, we danced on the clouds that could hold us high. The secrets held themselves open: we could see them visible, we could forget that they were ever secrets. Under our feet the earth became velvet moss, softly holding our steps. Without ever a question, we leaped. The webs of spiders caught our flight, the cliffs moved closer to lessen our fall. Sometimes you laughed louder, sometimes I. The colours pleased our eyes, the wind carried us by our arms outstretched. This was how you and I lived in perfect movement, in unabashed stillness from an old day to the new.  

In my mind nothing has changed. You still sleep under ageless trees, I still wish for wings unseen. But it is a new morning. You leave and return to someone else’s arms, I pretend to busy myself to stay alive. Each night the stars appear, but they are less bright. Each morning the warmness of the sun subsides, a little less happy to find you parted and I gone. In silence we sit, just until I muster the strength, order my muscles to move. They are like a heavy steam train with no steam to begin the charge forward. They are like set concrete fixing one part to the other. My hand slips from yours, barely noticed, barely making a difference. If my eyes would clear of these tears, I would see the rise of this magnificent new dawn.

Here is my spirit free. There is a faint rhythm in my ears, ticking softly in my arms, legs, in my veins and heart. I feared, how weary I became, imagining an incredible abyss were you not by my side. This is my mountain to climb. You no longer need to hold the pieces: I am the master of these winds, I am captain of my soul. I am every king and this, this is my every kingdom. I am here to face this new day rise; I am here to look into the sun and let the new day rise. 

Elysium

We are sailors swept by the deep currents. We are sailors approaching the endless shore. We are drifters from another time, hoping to find solid ground. We are owners of treasures, we have pride in abundance. We roam armed with all we know, carrying such delight, darkness that no moon could alight. The wind sets our sails, the frantic compass tries to catch the direction, but we sail to east from west, from south to north. The poles pull us closer, push us further from where we hoped we would be. Our ship skips the surface of these waves, soon we may catch a glimpse of the land we might moor in tonight.  

As I watched you saunter through the thick sand of the changing tide, the sun only shined on you. It was the morning, almost an unnoticed start to the one of many summer days. The distance echoed your words of longing, played mischievously on the surface of the water in colours indescribable. There were bright whites and even brighter yellows. The sun bothered your eyes so you looked far out at sea to try to find the source, those missing boats. Sharp whistling and you turned, away from the water, towards the day. You then shook the excess. Filled with joy for another chance to watch the sun slowly rise and magnificently set. Barefoot you ran after the others, ran to catch the reluctant waves as they licked your toes, feet then ankles. The cold water made you jump and with almost child-like laughter you ran with all your might, away from the tide. It made you remember. It made you remember the days you thought you had already forgot. The lakes and pretty fishes, the breath of summer morning, the coffee on the porch steaming. Stretch out your arms and breathe this moment in. Fill your lungs with the memory of the ocean sweat, the salty mist, the velvet grass of your childhood standing barefoot at the water’s edge. I wish I had known you then.  

The rooftops told stories of friendship, stories of human hearts meeting to never break the bond. We taught each other the gift of laughter and forgiveness. We offered ourselves, entirely. I could see in their eyes, the pride. I could see how they have learnt to never bend, straight and just, unblemished souls, unafraid of the vastness of the ocean. I know they will never bend. I know they would only bend for you. Our secret words flew high above the buildings, chased each other down the streets, were caught by the deep darkness of the silent ocean. In all we shared there was no flaw, there was nothing to want, the moment filled every hope, all expectations. We dreamed of endless days, sunlight to kiss our golden locks. We dreamed of great winds to blow our sails, anchors to keep us grounded, afloat in one place, moving only seemingly. We dreamed of circles, paths that would always lead us back to each other.  

I am often lost, often find doubt, often wish for a shore all to myself. I often burn from the want, often hide to shelter my most secret parts. I fall each time I try to move through unknown lands. How about you? The mighty sea draws me close, wraps its balmy self around me. Safe in its hands I float on the surface of this board. Waiting then falling. Waiting then flying. Tossed underwater to gasp for air, for a hand to hold. Then lifted high above the impenetrable matter, sailing outwards, hurrying towards the shore. I often am lost, find myself fallen to the ground. The kind sand holds my feet warm, the restless ocean waits until I am safely on the shore.  

We meet on those shores. We meet after our battles with the majestic waves. You hold us together, help our weary bodies find their way back home. I have never felt so safe. Then you tell us in pictures, recount the individual battles. Some lost, some miraculously won. You collect our souls and steer them towards warmth and hope. 

I am a broken thing

Through these visible cracks, these holes that cannot keep the warmth, cannot stop the love from leaving, through these openings, vents of my cracked spirit, through these invisible blemishes, I slowly seep. How I slowly seep and quietly disappear. Without much sound I am gone. The birds chirping, the winds moving the lifeless leaves on sleeping trees but I am no longer here. The damp autumn soil cannot hold me, I rest on the cold moss, soft enough to cradle me, hard enough to swallow me whole. My eyes have become vacant, tired of the search, seeking the comfort of the setting sun, the reds and violets never the harsh yellows or burning whites. These eyes are no longer of use to me, they cannot show what is real. They never have. These eyes long to catch a glimpse of those better days left behind and the hope of some better ones to greet me. In all their efforts they will never be able to see what my soul knows already, my spirit tasted momentarily, these useless eyes can never see where my mind has wondered endlessly. This, my little Elysium, is where I am headed. In this borrowed world, in this peaceful end, this unseemly manner by which I choose to leave, there is a place for heaven. Place for a great fire. We will burn the mistakes of yesterday, we will dance to forget those thorns which were placed into our souls. One day it will be clean, all memory erased, all love given for the sake of giving. Then you will know great love, you will fill the emptiness with meaning. In time.

Hurry forward and you will fall, through time, fall through the shallow façade of all you have believed to be true. There is only one king in this kingdom, you must not be fooled by all the crowns that cross your path. My burning soul will not always be enough to guide you, give light in the dark. The worry keeps me from sleep, turns my dark hair to snow-white. The time to tell is shrinking, vastly disappearing whilst my soul still has pages and pages to shout. This, all of this, how are you to know alone? How am I to stop you from getting lost? I have long ceased to warn you for the real threat can only come from within you. I cannot alert you against your own mistakes, against the terrible injustices you inflict on yourself. These I must learn to watch in silence. I can no longer take the fight, I am too weary, I rest my eyes. The soft linen holds me, just the shell, my heart and spirit soar as I sink more deeply into this bed. I only wish to know, but I never will.

I offer my all to you. Take the broken pieces and treasure them. Hide my face from the morning, the sunlight might do great damage. Watch me as I fall, hold my withered hands and whisper that I have shown you enough. That you know. That you are who I wanted you to be and can walk alone. Tell me that you remember, that you will from now know exactly who to be. Tell me that I see in you the spark, that you will keep it safe until the great fire starts. Tell me that you know how to love, that I have taught you to know, to give full heartedly. Tell me you know yourself, that you are sure. Tell me you will forgive. Me and all others, but mostly yourself. Tell me that you never wanted to let go but know that now we must. Tell me that you will hold together your broken spirit with the words I try to sing to you.

Then let me fall.

Then let me fall through the ground.

Then let me fall through the ground, back to you.

Nothing Less Than Beautiful

Maybe I am to blame. Maybe soon I will have the courage to accept that the blame lies solely with me. Maybe with time I can start to comprehend that it is not blame at all that I must place. That blame yields to scars for another, but scars there were none. Scars cover my all, but none of me made scars for some desperate other. Scars there were none, but my soul lost its colour, lost its will to shine. The blame cannot sooth, cannot cover the gaping wounds that show veins throbbing, uncover the flesh unblemished. Blame is a substitute hardly able, crippled by misgivings. Maybe it is easiest demanding to be named culprit. For my scars I want myself blamed – is what I whispered. So far from you, not even the echoes of these words could ever reach. Yet you have changed me, shaped me. Unbeknownst to you, I have moulded my mistakes, I have twisted the blame to fit exactly what you have made. What I suspect you have made.

I do not bend, but I would bend for you.

You are everything. Every forgotten word, every melody unable to fly, every unwritten poem, every sunshine covered by clouds. You have made me a ghost, how I haunt. These empty streets, the barren lands of my present and bleak glimpses of the times ahead. I move amongst you, there are signs that I may be, there are times of laughter, there are times of tears, there are times of anger and seldom forgiveness. There are appearances that are kept, there are instances that burn, but there is void in each lightly taken step. The void is you, the ghost haunting is me. Dearest. Dove of these grey days. Light amongst the black vastness of the universe. Tender troubadour that guides the lost souls across the sea. This is what I call you. In adoration and hope, in gratitude and faithful reminiscence, this is what you are to me. Love, you are the world to me. Love, how you have changed me, you have moved me. One moment you saw me dancing in the light, then quietly crouching in the corner.

I do not sway, but I would change for you.

Lost is the hope, all the hope. Until I find it again just as easily as it has slipped from my hands. Lost are my ways, lost I am in fullness to you. The feet do the walking, choose the direction as they please. The night turns into day, the rain into sunshine. Winter brings the majestic snow and ice. Without much notice these disappear but the feet keep shuffling forward. Dryness follows the damp mornings, short days run before their longer nights. All this time I never forget, but I would erase all memory for you. I cannot force you to find me, so I stand out into the wind, hoping to bear the beacon of my ready heart. You fool me, trick me, evade the meeting, watch as I soak in the torrential rain. The tickling sunlight dries my cheeks of the rain, maybe of the tears. In this I will not move, like a pole firmly cast into the shallow, muddy soil, I resist the curious wind, do not bow to its efforts of temptation. I will not move lest I should miss the meeting of our souls. Please try to find me, I am at these dubious crossroads. I am invisible and unwilling, but in an instance become a star, all the Northern Lights. I doubt what I see, what I hear. I need persuasion to believe the rain really will drench my dry soul. I need convincing that moving does not mean I will no longer be loyal. I need encouraging keeping up the fight. I need calming to stay steady, earnest in the want. I am beaten too many times. I am left too many times. I am ridiculed then dismissed. I am avoided, unnoticed, humiliated then slowly forsaken. Hope leaves me, over much time spent waiting. I lose the want, narrowly lose the hope. This is how I want you to find me, when I am ready. In time, when you are ready.

I do not know patience, but I will learn to love the wait.

Not unlike a miracle

The tallest fence you have ever encountered: magnificent in its enormity, astonishing in its might to separate this side from that. Where you are to where you want to be. The blocks that stand to build the divide seem impenetrable. Voices seep through, faint echoes of laughter, conversations that sound familiar, owners of words that remind you of yourself. The foot of this fence is filled with green green grass, with flowers that are in full bloom almost all year around. The foot is where you are, close to the puddle that reflects the clear sky and the blinding sun. Suddenly you feel blind sighted, suddenly ripped of the past you so strongly held onto. You are alone, nobody sees you trying to stand on your toes, trying to take a peek at what could be waiting. Looking for a crack. The heart is heavy, the memories burden the airy walk of these unresponsive muscles. The spirit devastated, with every second tries to build back its courage, tries to smile, wave, tries to find a tree to climb and jump over to where the journey must begin. But these boots are filled with lead, moving the unmovable is beyond any human bundle of fibre, sinew or force. The mind may wonder, yours does, leaves the useless body. Through the fields that hold your secrets, through the walls that keep your faith. Through the trees that hold you captive, the notes that tie you to the sun. Through the bricks that stand to hold you together, the air that involuntarily fills your lungs, the blood that rushes through your veins, your feet that shuffle your crippled body forward. Inch by inch. This is how you have let go. This is how you wait for someone to show you how to truly wave at the sun.

If only you were a sailor. If only you knew these bearings, understood the north and south. If only the water was a field and the boat rocked slightly less. If only these men of nautical knowledge, these slaves of powerful currents and waves could guide you better. Show you exactly where you can cross. The direction forward is no longer useful, the disappearance of everyone who accompanied you until now seems to make the situation even more desolate. Alone you dare not tread the waters that were a minute ago so unpredictable. But go you must, find a way to cross, find a soul to take you over. Lying on the petals of velvet flowers, waiting for the warm earth to offer a solution cannot continue. This you know as well, this you have suspected already from when you arrived. You bendable soul, you weak creature of comfort! With your dreamy thoughts, with your golden ideas, those threads that fly far and wide, those words that you have made and the ones you have borrowed to tell the story of how you broke then mended, blended in and bravely stood out, how you fell apart and watched your heart die, with these friends of yours that are fickle like morning dew but sturdy like an ancient tree, with these you find the first step to the ladder that stands to the height of the fence. Your hands are still shaky, your legs more hopeful than any other part of you, quickly you lift yourself up to no longer hold the ground but embark, thrust your moth-eaten soul off the ground. This may be the beginning you have been travelling through planets to find. The winds in the sails of boats you sat on, cried on, wished on are lifting your feet, placing one after the other, aiming higher, going forward without ever looking back. In these fragments you no longer see the black, the shades clear: but remember that all this is only temporary.

Some say to hold on with both hands, some say run up the ladder and jump off at the end. Some held the top, some held the bottom. Some saw the steps, some only assumed them. Some took weeks to arrive, some merely seconds. Some never looked down, some cried for the ones they left behind. Some slipped and fell, some turned around, some lost their memories, some became unable to love. Some arrived, some never made it to the other side. Some saw snow, some saw the sun. Some let go, but you must find your own way. This, after all, is your journey through past and future. Oh how the pearls of water arrive at your mouth. Resist the inevitable and you may never comprehend the reasons for this magical voyage. Understand that you are different now. Better at listening, better at feeling, capable of unconditional love, capable of swimming through past and present distinguishing between what is real and what is not. You have become the compass you relied on to get here. The floating slaves of the water drift aimless, you cannot control the direction but have the power to sway from this to that, from what was to what is to come. Many will turn to you, more will seek to unlawfully take what cannot be taken with force. The treasures of the mind are yours until you cease to be. Now look up or look down, you decide. Charge forward or call out the names of the nymphs that have betrayed you, halt mid-way or surrender to the pull of the journey, risk losing your heart or risk gaining your soul, these are at stake. But your eyes glisten and you know exactly, clear as daylight, white as winter snow: know that all the sorcery of the world, all potions of the scheming underworld cannot hold you back, cannot force you to stay where you are, cannot take your spirit or heart – you are the soldier of your own past, the hero of your future. You are what you have surrendered, what you are about to find. These pieces that define you, these fragments build your ladder step by step. Moving forward must be, even if leaving momentarily cripples the soul.

Once the fog clears you finally see. See it all. See it all in nothing. There in complete stillness, frozen from the cold, covered in snow, white ice and the ever present blistering sun, there firmly standing in the middle of the biggest ice plate the barren landscape welcomes you. A thousand shades of white, a million different blues. The sound of your heart beating cracks glaciers to tumble to the sea. You have arrived in the moment. The moment holds this everlasting winter, it is the haven of stillness and the kingdom of change. Never have you been so cold. Never have you felt so at home. Your feet never want to move, your hands reach out and try to touch the endless that surrounds you. This is where everything begins. This is where water turns from salty to sweet. This is where secrets from the mouth drop into black holes as rain jets to melt the ice. This is where the weary soul can rest, the tired mind can stop, the beading foreheads dry, the eyes water involuntarily. You look around. Never have you seen anything this beautiful. These endless flatlands like bed sheets for screens display the images of your past. The vision like a miracle. Your heart decides to stay. Never leave. With much courage you stump your feet and with a roaring thunder shout to the bergs and floating plates of ice: I am home. I have arrived. The echo welcomes you, the remnants of your words bounce in every direction, some find you still standing there. If this is the moment you choose, then this moment shall be. If this is where you have found your miracle, then it is likely to pin your navel to your soul. Be still now, these miracles come and go in an instant. I will leave you to enjoy for as long as it lasts. This is your world now, this is you now. What you have found is not unlike a miracle. Not unlike at all.

We could be pirates

This patch of land is for us to conquer. There are trees, forests. There are rivers, waterfalls. There are people, villages. This will be our own kingdom, the place where trees will bend to make way when we arrive. The beasts will instantly become tame once we set foot on the luscious white sand. This land will be our island, palm leaves fanning the insecurities away. Parrots will land on our arms gently, almost silently descending from topless trees. Snakes from Amazonian paths will straighten themselves to make our way easily accessible. The way we will charge forward. Unabashed, almost ecstatic from the long senseless journey, beading sweat rolling down our temples, clothes worn and mind puzzled from the intoxicating chance, the inexplicable chance of becoming owners of plants, animals and men alike. Masters of wondrous creatures, obediently subservient, magnificently different, unexpectedly humble.              

I already know what you are going to tell me. The moon is full and shines a brassy look onto your sunken cheeks. The words need not hit the drums of my ears. They need not be formulated by your worried mouth. The heavy air of dusk covers the distance between your eyes and mine. Predicting the next move, holding onto the moment until it comes and destroys the hope that we have been keeping. Just a little while longer. Just a little longer for both our sakes. Below our feet the gaping valley, the mesmerising waterfall, the vapour and the light breaking into distinct colours of the rainbow. This is what we must leave to travel to new lands? This is what you will leave to find new pastures, new companions, new winds to set your sails in? I already guessed what you were going tell me. Could you tell me tomorrow?

This is the moment when all the moon’s golden rays shine on me. Around the rock where I stand the night creatures are gathering, chirping and thumping, clinking and silently swishing with their wings of astonishing magnitude. This is your unsuitable leader, your captain of little knowledge. This is your guide without a compass, this is your true voice without chords that could churn out songs like songbirds often do. In this night, the first night of so many, brace yourselves! Brace your wings and hoofs, your legs and beaks; brace that space in your hearts that allowed a hapless fool to charge your forces forwards and onwards. We are the pirates of the night, we are those who make the day wish to linger longer. For us the moon rises sooner, the sun stays to wink each time it slowly sets. The horizon turns orange then blood red and we know. We know so full heartedly that our time has come. We must hold ransom the thoughts that arrive to paralyse the able mind and body. That haunt the soul and trick it into questioning its own right. We must chase and intimidate the lurking thoughts of self doubt. Like true pirates we must seize and capture, forever make these cold uncertainties disappear. Take the fight and settle with the thought that we might lose an eye, might leave a leg or a hand behind. We might come back limping, surface with permanent battle wounds, scars that will take almost all our lives to heal. Like a shield we must stand as one, protect our soft parts, deflect the approaching aches, repel the spears that aim to nail our spirits, our wings, our fearful tentacles mercilessly to the ground. 

This land is ours, for now we roam it you and me. The words you speak hurt me, then the hurt turns to longing and before long to love. Sometimes you leave, some other times I do. We take our hearts with us, seldom leaving them to older chests. When the cool breeze comes to signal the arrival of the starry night, we hold off on the words, halt the thoughts, stay silent and unteach our parrots these words of goodbye. For a little while longer, to prepare, to ready for the battle. Just for one night stay silent. Just for one night do not say the words. Just for a little longer stay the way you are and please, could you only tell me tomorrow?

Something brave from your mouth

I wish I could show you the joy in mending. I wish you could see already, believe it whole heartedly. Know that breaking in two is necessary to build a straight back. Shedding the skin that grew without much notice. Shedding the past that left an imprint inerasable. The lines on your face become a testament to the myths you have seen. The deep wrinkles that surprised you carry the burden of pain. The sight is no longer sharp, the heart no longer firm in its aperture that sets the vessels in motion. Your soul chipped, lies on the pavement, careless passers-by trample, flatten, unexpectedly liberate. Moulding into the cracks of the concrete, the spirit learnt the most necessary: the world is much too dangerous. See yourself mostly unequipped to face the evils that turn out to conquer.

You look to her with teary eyes and ask: how will I know? He looks back and starts off with a story. This to you is familiar, the characters are sweetly innocent, the setting reminiscent of a time you remember to be perfect. She seamlessly wipes her cheeks from the cold tears that trickle down to arrive with a salty sensation at her mouth. He hangs his head broken. The ending was never as imminent as it was that afternoon. The winds whispered through the yellow leaves of the trees outside. The window fogged up quicker, the sun barely made it through to the living room floor. The cups are now clenched with both hands, the steam sooths the lies that leave these young mouths. Insincere and hurt, painful and injured inside and out. Piercing words are thrown, civilities are forgotten for the moment, places are changed, something as simple as boys and girls gets lost or tossed all around in the world. In this world. The memory has the sole power, the force that softens the parting words. But the hearts are hardened and unable to open. Wishing to never have to share sideways glances, never have to share the future, never have to share the past. Only these toys stay to remind, stay in the room that is empty, stay cold and lifeless, untouched for years, decades, unloved eternally. His head hangs in inconsolable sadness, she whimpers endless.

I stand outside looking in, baffled by the things that you talk of. The pain that hangs above your head is gaining a visible outline. I can see its colours, the shapes it takes. Futile to comfort, unable to wipe the sadness from your days. The nights are the worst, they bring a cool breeze that no shelter protects you from. Those nights torture me also. Confess but there is little relief. Drench your body in the cold ocean but the waves cannot wipe the past clean. You are left with your mistakes, I am left with mine. The girl in your dreams is left unable to mend her ways. The boy that you think yourself to be is left misplacing his ways. Then I watch as you collide, the past with the future, the girl with the boy, the sorrow with the pain. Wrongful in its judgements, the hapless love examines the circumstances. Only descends when fate is looking the other way, descends on hearts that are unready, lives that are unformed wholly. Gather much wisdom for there is oil spilled on this fire, there is scope for an imminent crash. Fatal meeting of punctured souls. On the table where you danced you will lie in torn clothes, begging me to swing you way back south, begging me to sing you something brave from my mouth.

 

And I will. This is how you will know, I will. In that instance the truth will show for a moment. You will see how quickly you can break then mend painstakingly. I will watch you with a straightened back and readied heart. You will need to reach for the harness in my hands. When you are ready. My sole desire to show you truly. Show you uncovered. Reveal in its full glory, trumpet the triumphs of its long journey, uncover the blemishes and shout to you with all my conviction: that there is joy. Joy in the mending. These are things brave enough to sing from my mouth. Now they should sing from yours.

The Day is Done

To the remnants of history. To those who subject then doubt. To these endless days that fool us with cunning trickery, with treacherous truths that are unloaded boundlessly. Truths that become devious lies in instances unregistered with these snail-paced hearts, these elephant like brains. We are sinking low, sucked in by a spiral. Unintentional submerging of the soul into ice cold water, into clear smoke that covers each day. These must be the days that leave silently, that become unnoticed, that start off with the want but accept the muted fate. This is how easily we have become remnants of history, pieces of no importance, irrelevant footnotes on pages that are soon to vanish from existence. From this is where we must start. And when the day has ended, this is where we must end as well.   

Your story began, goes by way of sorrow, sometimes luck. The lonesome traveller waiting to unload the burden of solitude, to find refuge in the cracks of hearts shut tightly. Hoping to encounter a kind soul, a rising spirit of devotion. You set sail on a raft in the endless desert. The quenching heat, the trying coldness of the night, the scorching sun, the easterly winds blew against your sails. You were ill prepared, unequipped with paper and pen. The stars could not have played a better trick on you and your raft. The sand moved quickly, the heat soon broke you, the blisters halted each effort to send a message of help. Still, your raft moved along. You found clothes to wrap your useless skin in. The pain slowly subsided, the sun became predictable. Rain you waited, rain never came. The wind changed only so often, you learnt how to navigate. They all laughed when you set off without a compass, but the desert needs no compass to sail. The sand is not easy like water, the night sky is not the sea turned upside down. Soon you realised. The dear north pulled you and you could feel the gentle nudging, feel it growing stronger each day. Every so often a mirage gave you false hope, how you cursed the day you had to leave. Seemingly unavoidable, you would rather have chosen a wintery day to skid on the backs of grid like fresh snowflakes. Then you would have known which way the earth moved, where you would find your soul. The summits of terrible cliffs, the paths ventured by beastly creatures and the evergreens to line the way. These you would have known, these you would have found familiar. Out here in the golden desert is where you cannot be anything else but lost. Diligent in your efforts to survive, disciplined in the wait for the dear another.  

The account you gave is accurate, there seems to be no other path. We take each moment as it is given, churn it until it fits slightly, only just, to loosely cover, to hide the blemishes that appear at an alarming pace. If this weary pilgrim is to be given the rest deserving, then the journey must echo the fitting reward. Then you must merit the reward. After years of searching, there are no definites is what you have found. Sands taking you to waters, ice plates sailing you to mountain tops, trunks of rotting trees flying you to tightly hanging constellations have succeeded in showing you the beauty, teaching you the value of the wait. You now understand the fickle nature of the moment, how unstoppably miraculous it can appear. Each day filled your soul with heavy sorrow, each night lifted the weight. Each cloud reached to pull you from the wreckage, each ray of the majestic sun pushed you back onto your raft to continue. Every detail of your journey enriched your spirit, every instance taught you to atone. The meeting of the other is urging you to continue, set off once again. The fear of disappearing, the fear of losing is ushering a new beginning. To secure to be a remnant of this day, you will hurry and find, you will travel and hope. You will scorn and hurt, you will battle solitude and hate. You will guard off evil and embrace fate. You will roam in heat and cold, you will chase rocks and hunt motionless prey. You will welcome strangers, you will forgo all niceties. You will hold out your hand and wait for the stars to guide you to that dear another.

In the silence of the heart

This is how it was, touched by a lesser love, I threw the chains my past life posed. Threw them with haste and vengeance. Threw them with great force and depth, away from the imminent hope, towards the long gone darkness. The deafening sound from the abyss crept after me, echoed the braveness, mirrored the bereavement. Here was a life tossed, here was another newly budding. The burden cannot ever be shared, the pain that twisted the spirit can never be lessened, the memories burned into the soul can never be erased. There I saw the reflection of that crippled soul, maimed by the meeting of you. Maimed by the meeting of your soul, destroyed by the clashing of our souls. There in pieces, washed by the salty sea, dried by the unforgiving sun, there in the orbit of this magnificent planet, hovering on earth’s wondrous moon, there in stillness and weightlessness is where the chains from my heart shall remain. Freed of you, alone amongst the stars, circling the future and never seeing clearly the past. This is how your lesser love has crippled me.

Once there were days that outshined all other days. They held more minutes than physically possible. The seconds overflowed and the hands of your watch would not turn for hours on end. The lake we chose filled overnight, the moon played with its light on the surface, chasing waves to toss tiny ships our way. The trees covered my blushing cheeks, the tall grass hid our childish desires, the carpet of leaves kept our secrets. The very creatures of the fields promised to never laugh at our plans, never grow larger than what we imagined they could. Then you spoke of your dreams and I took those words to be set in stone, the words of my future, the pictures of your dreams would be my future. Then I spoke of the places we would see, the places that would change us to become strangers to only meet again as young lovers do. Those were our moments and we collided like comets rarely do. From the trap of the heart there seemed no way to escape. We whisked each other away, cast a spell on our souls.

I cannot describe the time to you. I cannot describe the time that I have lost, that I have given to you. I have willingly offered, you have scrutinised then taken happily, unknowingly. Your words became some else’s future, your promises whispered to someone else’s soul. My words rang dead in the echo of your greatness. They were left at the floor of the valley between your heart and mine. The minutes on your watch raced forwards, the hours of my paralysed soul got trapped in a motionless halfway house. Feeding off of the crumbs, the pieces you threw so carelessly towards the unsuspecting ether. You were there and I was unable to move. We crashed, you made it out with a scratch. I fell hard and broke most bones. The bruises healed slowly, the scars will forever remain. The heart is meeker and weak, unable to fully allow anyone else to ever see its real beauty. That is still being saved for you. For someone like you. I find my heart silent, I fend its return to its former glory. I used to hear your beating heart through the words and clatter. I wait that maybe one day in the silence of my heart, you will speak.

An ode to these notes

They are your words, they are your notes. Through time they have become a little mine. You toiled over the rhymes, you laboured with the harmonies. Your beading forehead saw the fruits of your amazing labour, at times late at night, at times early in the morning. The ones that burnt you made it to immortality, the days that would try to knock you down got inscribed in marble, plastic and ash. Your sweet heart proudly hanging by a thread, your fingers clutching the strings, getting ready to capture the melody.  

And then I imagine. Imagine a day when the notes take over. Those that you have created and carefully orchestrated in an orderly fashion for high to follow low, low to lift the high, will obediently stand frozen in time for eternity. Mighty muscles how they give way to frail beats that resonate hidden drums, resonate the silk veil of the soul. That is what your notes do, they move the unmovable, shake the one cast in concrete, they sooth the troublesome hearts. They sooth your troublesome soul. 

Now they heal me. Now they upset me. Now they send a silent tear down my cheek. These notes of yours have become my lovers past and present. They have become my sons and daughters, my future and the dark days of my painful past. You hurt, I hurt with you. You rumble with inexplicable anger and I stand guard on the sidelines. Your voice chokes, I pull you out with a tender applause. Your hands grip the moment, wrestling it to the ground, lifting it high like a balloon, on this pedestal is where you create and where I am drenched in your outpour of magical, mesmerising notes of genius.

 

Your notes change my life, touch so many. Through your notes, parts of yourself so willingly shared, I come to understand the pinnacles of my invisible empire. I am kept at bay a little longer, I am kept burning in the fire for a while longer. It is your notes that make me better, your notes that conjure the dormant to rise to life. This vessel, the only one I know, I will keep chained to you, for as long as your notes arrive in a timely manner, I can allow my words to set sail without much fear of them hurting or being hurt. Your notes need not take shelter, my words cannot reach their amazing heights. These notes that have once saved you, will I am sure proceed to in time save me. Here is how your music saved me. Here is how you saved me.

i.am.not.real

This visit will be short. Full of sweetness and hollow promises that glide on the rainbow coloured dough of unbaked bread. Scents will scare the thoughts that dance to lure. With bends that baffle the mind, with movements that rival the essence of this drummer’s innate rhythm. Easily drawn to the mischievous spirits of the western winds, unable to resist the magnificent glow of suspense. Through a narrow and harrowing hole the morning light creeps in. Lights the bedding covered by leaves killed in autumn. Touched by a hint of frost, blown by a swift current, burnt by the amazing mother of all warmness: the undeniable summer sun. The table stands on three legs, unsure of which side to rest on the creaky boards of the shifting room. Landing softly on earth rich in decaying broken hearts. Bare feet leave imprints, light dust of journeys to and fro thinly cover the surface of the damask tablecloth. The teapot is burning hot. This is where all burden must lie for safekeeping. From here the hike to the summit will begin. Choose feather-light steps to mount the path covered in snow. White snow that keeps the weight of any sin, that holds the heavy heart of monsters, that captures the windy airiness of the spirits haunting. In an attempt to keep quiet through the chase, bubbling laughter meets the adversaries, unexpected and unclear, softly locking the idle hands to the knobs of forgotten rooms. This has to be seen! The smell of freshly grown grass oozing through the keyhole, covering in an inexplicable cloud of freshness the entire length of the childish imagination. Dreams must be dreamt in all force. Hindrance, give way! Each breath blows tides away, pulls them close to the shore. From this vista the pieces of the puzzle can be clearly seen. The bits that fit the frame are glowing, those in the middle are invisible. The sharp edges represent the waters. They are fresh, from afar it is safe to tell. Fish travel in packs and teach mammals to live underwater. Grow your fins, grow them fast to avoid a fateful collision with the Hedges and Oxbows. Feet might be of no use, they may be disposed of soon. Beauty touched the skin, the roots of that shiny hair, now scales cover the feeble network of warm, red leverage. The dizzying heights of the tower beckons for more fishlike birds to seamlessly descend. Under the cover of darkness they hold the bricks in their yellow beaks and replace each instant with a lie. Construction began early, it is required to wear a hat that protects the brows that uncontrollably push the wrinkly skin on the forehead high above. The flapping fans the snowy dust off the tablecloth, clears the mirror that has been covered in golden robes since the times of Moses. May you close your eyes and see the beauty that lies beneath, always. May you realise that most things are not real. This is what you found on the hour, beneath the rusty sheets of Willamette Mountain. This is what you must take from the valleys that lie deep within Willamette Mountain.

I choose you, Eden

In your quest to fulfil every dream, realise every fantasy, there is an almost non existent fault. So faint, so light that for years it goes unnoticed. Unnoticed even to you. Like a cavity maliciously lurking, for years eating away the healthy, the bulging, sturdy constitution of the bleached white substance. Unseen in darkness, unchallenged by the light. Softly holding the flood of tears, seamlessly protecting the outline of a life shining from afar. The fragile thread made into a spider’s web held the unthinkable weight of disappointment like steel enforced concrete. It almost killed your soul, almost made your spirit disappear. The fault lies somewhere outside things you deem real. The crack on the surface escapes your attention. Unnoticed until you break. And you break with a shatter so thunderous it rings to the heavens, hallowing this earthly ground.  

You floated in smirks of content like a raft on the back of lazy ocean waves. At times weightless in the water, mesmerized by the world around you, swirling in the ritual dance with the salty parts of the unstoppable mass. You floated through the words like they had no weight. Unmoved but helplessly following the whimsical pattern, the timely ups and downs. At one moment high, the next so very low. Swish, swinging in the restless water, twirling with the raft the way the currents command. In a carefully constructed moment the tears appear. Unexpected, embalmed with the sun’s powerful rays, still in the windless instant, sadness is crowned princess of the heart. Now you are trapped, held captive by fear of regret stealing the role of prince. The blinding sky is cruel, but you stare into the sun, just to prove, to feel that being blistered is being alive.

Whisper words of comfort. Whisper in your lost ears the very words that have made you set sail. The words that crushed your wings just moments before. These words now guide you to shore, push your raft away from the endless sea, towards the visible shoreline. Carefully you stand, hold onto the pole of hope, let the tears fill the dents in your raft. Your eyes closed, you feel the wind on your cheeks. It is cold, unfriendly, lonely. Still, with unabashed pride you start to believe your lungs hold the secret of your coming home. Your heart navigates, your feet shuffle to find the right direction. In this composition, in this unforgettable end to a magical adventure, you become ready to conquer the fears and the unknown. You let go just barely. Just enough to arrive at something new.  

Maybe you never had the choice, but decided to choose anyway. Love may have been too much to bear, but you cloaked your frail body with the full weight of a love returned. Your lies might not catch up with you, but you will never cure your soul of the pain it caused. In your man-made haven numerous have tripped before you. Everyone you touch dies of thirst, instantly. Only one chose you, you destroyed all others. There is a distinctly visible fault in your ardency to fulfil each dream, to realise each fantasy. Rivers dry in your step, forests disappear in your path, innocent souls are crippled by your actions. If this is your Eden, then I choose to choke.

Until it gets better

Just as an unfaithful lover, a cheating partner, a homesick wanderer, a runaway with a change of heart I attempt to turn back to you. It has been days, months, maybe even years. The dark does not scare me, I charge forward unafraid of the unknown. The urgency replaces the haste and each second that holds me, keeps me from getting to you is hateful. I would break every bone running out of breath, sprinting in an effort to catch the door before it is forever shut. At times I have stayed away in silence, unseen or heard, for times that are immeasurable. Like a hermit I hid away, hummed melodies that never left my head, scribbled sentences that never showed themselves on the page. In sweet benevolence I was allowed to maintain anonymity, to never have to drag my sickly constitution into the sights of the blazing summer sun. Blisters might have surfaced. From the safety I chose to never venture, had the same words on repeat, the same beats set the daily pace. This was my life in Eden, but paradise as I know it is nothing to how you would imagine it. My soul thrives when sheltered but shrivels without the crippling daylight. I had no choice but to leave, run towards that which would pain me greatly. Pain me daily. 

Parading these talents terrifies me but I cannot do without. I wish I could keep them hidden forever, push the words under water, choke them before they could reveal how inaptly I place them one after the other. I am an impostor compared to the masters, barely visible amongst those who flaunt their mesmerizing feathers. But the words pull me from my damp cave haven. The words are not shy, they are not worried about how they have been used, what others will think, how they will be judged. The words are endlessly vain and selfish, they listen to no good advice. They allow only partial control and then I must back off, let them take what is rightly theirs. These words turn me inside out, make me swim in a sea of humiliation, plunge from the cliff of humility. Amidst all that is unfamiliar I try to survive, withstand the silence with a head held high, diminish the value of praise instantly and with resolute determination. Just as I reluctantly drag my most treasured bits out onto the blaring sun, I at once must weather the paralyzing silence or undue credit.  

This is my gift, an unbelievable gift that has been bestowed. This is not something that belongs to me, it is merely something that I have been entrusted with, in the hope that I may be a good keeper, a worthy carrier, a shell for thoughts that may be of use for others. With this sweet burden I travel and grow increasingly frustrated for there is not enough in me to make a difference. This talent is partial, it has been bestowed by mistake and the lion share rests somewhere far, with someone better than me. Forgive me, for even with this solemn realisation, I still cannot but continue to create. It will take both our times. It will make me feel worse and then better. I will be elated for moments and then thrown to the ground. I will shout for you in agony, I will call you in exuberant glee.  Some moments will see me get it right, some others will teach me the beauty in failure. I cannot but carry on and hope. Hope with all my might that these words, dubiously placed and ill formed, will still make you stop and read. That I will continue until it gets better, until it gets worth your while to read.

be brave

In these uncertain times it is easy to miss that which is crucial. Which has the ability to alter paths, which washes away barriers and borders. In these unpredictably cruel times it is by default that we cannot see that which at all other times is clearly visible. Wrapped in smoky haze we wander through our journeys dizzied from the maze. Glasses fogged up, minds boggled with confusion. We trace our steps back, stare straight ahead, hold our hopes high in front, throw our regrets far behind the road we have already travelled. The soul seldom settles, the cries of the lonely spirit echoes, pierces the heart. It is in this wondrous state that we understand how a warring, broken, elated spirit cannot ever be silenced. The words will ring loud, the thumping will break mountains in two. The notes will travel across the universe. The tears will fill reservoirs and set sail the sleepy little boats resting on unsuspecting shores. These messengers will harbour a voyage unparalleled. I am a star, waiting with a heavy anchor for a boat to reach the skies. I cannot tell where the horizon ends, I can only hear the nearing, the distinct ruffle of the sails latching onto the playful winds. I must ready myself, rust off the chains of my anchor. Pray in solitude that on the boat I await there is going to be a kind soul with a beautiful heart.

Instead mostly I fear, grow weary of the traps that lie ahead. Fear time and all of its malevolence. Fear the inevitable end and the prolonged suffering. Shudder at the thought of ridicule, grow anger into lifeless boulders that uncontrollably roll down steep hills of frustration. The wait is never kind, it is mostly solemn and flows in circles of inconsolable sadness. The world slowly catches fire, burns until there are souls who can feed it with their exceptional wisdom and grace. I see them leave one after the other. I see only darkness, anticipating the arrival of hope on wings that are neither visible, nor audible. I am a star, unable to move. There are times when I can alter fate with just one thought, one better deed than the one before. There are times when the cruelty in others does not scare me, when I can shout loud enough for the rest to hear. There are times when I lean so low that I can see my reflection in the water. Were I to touch it, all of the dust would cover the waves that rush to rub the shore. But I am unmoved, fitted just right, patient in my statuesque mission. I see a war around me, I see millions of lights that are lit then flicker, after much debate die to alight again. I cannot hold you back, cannot call on you to hurry faster. You take your sweet time and the world may disappear before you get to me. So here I am, fearful of time, doubtful if I will ever persevere, joyful in the hope that I may too be once noticed. I am a star with a heavy anchor, sometimes lost, sometimes adamant in being a part of an important constellation. I pull the tide closer, I guide the blinded souls home, I chase the sun and forge an alliance with the moon. Soon I will hear you, you will call out my name while I cry with tears of joy, whimper as I sail towards the horizon.

Two slices of whole grain bread

Almost breaking under the burden of the invisible mediocrity of the days turning from spring to summer. Breathing heavy with lungs that are thieves, shrinking further, becoming an outline that the gathering winds carelessly toss in and around. Tracing these footprints of lead, back to the same grind, almost bursting with silence, almost ready to allow each part to escape into a million pieces. In these younger days, with these perfect white clouds, under the kind kind summer sun, this is how I greeted you. 

You were gorgeous, almost unseen from the blistering sun. At some point we were strangers, then became friends. The heart that had been waking from the long wait found its way to the sun. Glowed with all its beauty in your path. We were off, took flight at the same time. The beat we heard, we felt in our lungs, we were drawn to the ecstasy and with arms thrown high in the air we shouted “thank you”. The union was forged somewhere between a sweet lullaby and a hymn for the soul.

We lay our bodies down on the soft grass, patches of freedom, unspoken empire of the lady love. Our heads were humming the notes that faintly sifted through the mesmerising trees. Lost in height, lost in the scents of the shaking earth around us, we filled our spirits with laughter, filled our hearts with song. Filled our cups with the sweet poison we wish for year after year. There in the hue of the setting sun, there with the ease of sipping life one moment at a time, is where I wish to go every time the clouds close up, cover with darkness a clear sky.

The days pass slowly then uncontrollably speed up, rush to see you again. Then I remind myself of the silence that I so reluctantly receive, so willingly give. Each adventure requires accomplices who know. Know how to skip and hop to the same beat. Know to hurry, know to kindly wait. Know to reach a hand that stands out amongst the thousand hands. Know how to sing out of tune. Know to fiercely hold onto the good, hold onto the heart that is for the keeping. This is where I wish to go. With you.

if she only knew

Knew that all songs were written for her. Knew that poetry flew on the wings of the same doubt that she clutches to survive. Knew that each time we take flight, it is with the same reservations that ring loud to topple her from the pedestal that she so reluctantly assumed. If there was a way for her to know that we are in this together. That what she feels now, we have all felt. That the worry that engulfs her susceptible soul is not more severe, not less important than anyone else has ever felt. Books would not have been written. Great stories of humanity would not have been recorded if the lives of those who create were not riddled with anxiety. Rippled and holed, shredded each day to a million pieces then glued together with capricious spring winds. If she knew to listen to the signs, to read to the words, to see the thoughts, she would find remedy for her painful fate much sooner.

Imagine that in this endless ocean there is a raft that can take you to the other side. On that shore there are pearls not just shells. There are people from your past, there are possibilities that are endless. The other side is only an island. A floating island of impossibles. Hoops around your ankles, saddled up for a long ride, these clowns will show you which way to find your dreams. See this land is nothing like it would be in fairy tales. Here you can use the waters from lakes to wash the dust off your soul. Here each path leads to challenges that ultimately aid to better the self. No words can roam aimless, they must find their place. Those who live here are only visible to you, each will know your worries and pains. The conversations will show you how breaking then mending can be more beautiful than never breaking at all. You will learn to stand under the waterfall and wait for the words to wash away the anxious wait that you keep. Words will flow where waters should. Clouds will lie on the ground like cushions if you feel you must take a rest. Each step you take will bring you closer to the raft that awaits to bring you back. Back to where you belong.

If she only knew that her words were going to save her. If she only let them do the harrowing task of jumping then flying, she would find that she never needed to take the plunge again. If only she knew that those who read care more than she will ever know. If she knew that parading her most dearly kept secrets made us all so proud. She should know that her words are golden, her fears are conquerable, her worries are what any us feels when confronted with the unknown. If she only knew to keep feeling with depths that are immeasurable, with passion that is unending, with the same heart that beats to beat her. Between the beats that hurt, there will be a beat that saves. Her steady heart will save her. The beats inside her words will save her.

If she only knew that she will very soon be, all right.

these parts

Somewhere between a beautiful day and an impenetrable wall, between a doubtful beginning and a doomed existence is the love that we shared. Not boasting, not even visible, just silently breaking still. After all these years, still able to hurt, still able to flare, to make a lightning flame: burn me to the bone. The memories are covered in sand, deep enough to never be seen, soft enough for the wind to blow them bare. With this burden I travel the roads you and I were never to see together. I take the words to people who know nothing of the story of us. But you hold these parts. I succumb to the grip and in glorious sunshine let go, fall onto the soft web of memories.

In joyful reminiscence, in the blissful summer sun, with winds finally resting to take breaths is where you will find me. The songs like hammocks hold my moth-eaten soul. In this mesmerizing infirmary I rest until I feel strong enough to walk on. My lungs are filled with sin, my legs feel unused, my heart barely beating. This day saves me. Slowly I rise, take flight, travel to places unfamiliar, see the world through my own eyes. For years you have tainted me, haunted my every move, your words like echoes rang clear in my ears. For so long I have tried to stay afloat with a foot full of lead. But then you left, taught me to softly say goodbye, to turn and walk alone, to hold my broken parts and show the healing sun. Our souls chained, we moved through water in slow motion, but no more. Now I glide in shoreless seas, soar in uninhibited skies. I have found peace in a life without your love.

Time spent with you was golden, bursting with life. Time spent with you was shoots growing, flowers blossoming, rivers growing. Time with you was unthinkable to ever end. Each moment marked, each softly spoken word noted, recorded so as to never be forgotten. Time spent with you was high flying and sturdy kites. Colourful shapes blown by the wind, dried by the sun. There were times the adventures took us to fields and forests. Other times we lost ourselves in the jungle of one city after the other. Each building held us captive, watched as we left bits of ourselves at their feet. We roamed rivers and untraveled roads. We climbed trees and walls, sat on the edges of lakes. The distance between you and I was invisible, held together by a wire that we knew would never snap. Time with you was a flow of memories that kept me breathing under the heavy void your parting caused. 

 

I would still break these walls and choose to fall. For you. You are my sweet ghost, the one where all memories start. You are the root of these wounds, these beautiful scars. Your name never leaves, your face lingers and becomes part of the new that grows to make me who I am. In humble gratitude I think of you, even now. In honest confession I know that I would do it all again. For you.

Fly up to the Moon and say hello

In your certain kind of sadness, in those unforgiving moments that you have revelled in, with these lights that are dimming later and slower, there is a reminiscent ray of hope. Things change you whisper, they change and there is time and power, there is almost an ardent desire for want, for circumstance to cease its happenstance and become lucid and controllable. A choice, a distant but clear, luminescent choice. Before summer set foot I heard you vow that you would latch onto these changing times, that you would grab the tailcoats of these hurried winds that toss and stir the still waters of contrariety. I stood on the icy shore and waited to see. The water barely came up to greet me, the sun already melted the frozen leaves of unsuspecting plants that leaned too close to the water, the spring breeze was unkind, but I waited. Waited to watch you surface.  

Your lungs filled with fresh air, your hair scruffy from the long flight that you have already taken, there you went roaming endlessly. Took what you needed, just what you needed. There were notes and there were rhymes, there were memories of lovers and scars from friends who turned enemies or enemies who turned friends. There was a glint in your eyes as you waved to me standing on the shore. You knew I would be there when you returned, waiting with such loyalty. Waiting with such love. Your heart boasted with more confidence than that flying balloon could take. If it was filled with helium or just your wonderful imagination, it flew with more speed than the eyes could follow. Soon you were a distant figure, just a spot in the sky, just a thought in the heart hoping to see you return. 

 

These lands are wondrous, unthinkable. The faces are gleaming, the strangers are long lost friends on the outside, but true strangers on the inside. The houses stand on their roofs, the doors are windows and the windows are doors. There are horses that run backwards, there are singers who cannot sing. This is what you told me of your journey. There are lovers without anyone to love and there are writers without anything to write. The skies are turning from orange to blue to red to green. The winds carry not scents but memories, objects and people from the past. Everyone says hello when they leave and bid farewell when they greet. The mirrors reflect the imagination, the pens write what the heart thinks. Each word is carefully selected, none are allowed to hurt. Fruits move to a beating rhythm, nobody works to destroy one-another. The sun takes votes for how long to shine. Sometimes the days are long, some other times they are very short. Hammocks provide for regular beds, the seas quiet when the sun sets. Everyone cheers the painter who cannot paint, the singer who cannot sing, the writer without anything to write. They say inspiration is time’s prisoner, until set free the host is merely a shell. So they wait for the painter’s luck to return to his brush. Listen to the singer’s out of tune hum until the melody comes rushing back. They read empty pages until the writer’s pen is yet again filled with ink. Days pass in peace, each takes to their own. Waterfalls can suddenly stop and trees grow to screaming heights overnight. Nothing seems impossible - in this land only wishing to stay infinitely cannot come true.  

In your certain kind of sadness there is a hopeful streak of lightly filled memories. See how quickly summer has replaced winter? You join me on the shore, take your travelling boots, your dusty jacket off. Then your hair grown long from the impossible journey rests on the velvet grass. You begin the story of how you went up to the moon. How you went up to the moon all alone. Slowly you start to believe that nothing was ever going to stop you. I listen intently, show you these days are changing. The notes are finding their songs, the words are finding their page. You are finding yourself and on this shore we will wait for the good people to find what to really see, hear and read. In these confusing times who to really be.  

31 things

There are days when my heart is full. Full from just a word or a thought that you have taken time to share. Full from the love that we once had, the love that forever holds us together. Love that was never fireworks in a dark night, love that has been like roots of a sturdy tree, withstanding, dependable and kind. Friends of my deepest heart, enemies of my unclear sky, these days have been filled with you. These days I feel, these days I fear: make me.

I am hanging between my deepest fears, my dearest hopes.

The days pass uncontrollably and remind me how feeble each attempt is.
I hope there is yet a lot I still will achieve.
Knowing the limits is impossibly hard, learning them takes time, a painful process.
I am settled, unsettled, restless, content.
Change is driven by the desire to want more. I seldom want more, I always want much, much more.
I have never really been challenged to forgive.
I have never been challenged to really love.
Sadness makes me whole.
Kindness I will forever value the most in you.
I deplore those who are not humble.
If you did not know, I am weak.
Sorrow in a stranger’s voice soothes me.
If searching means finding absolutes and definites, then I will search always.
Belief takes almost all of me.
Confidence is gained and lost, with just one word you hand it, you steal it from me.
I have thought myself capable of more, then grow silent and content with all that I have achieved so far.
By fate I have been stranded in a life that is only almost.
For too long I have waited.
My faults are many, most severely I have only allowed my heart to be touched once.
I am unable to make my past, my past.
Being reminded that I am not enough lights the fire, kills me burning.
Seeing more makes me more.
Wherever, whenever, words make me smile.
I am the last man standing in the fight to prove not every heart is evil.
Dreams I cry after, I have painfully let go.
There are only a handful of you who know me, you save me.
For these lines I have but one to thank, but I never do.
I am fortunate beyond belief.
If you were to take it all away, I would try to thank you.
If you were to stay a little longer, I would tell you to find your reflection in the words that I have stolen or borrowed.