Tied to me

Throw down a rope, a sturdy rope that can hold this reckless hope. Tonight you shine like no other. Tonight I want to be tied to you. I would bend to unload the burden, to hide from your innocent eyes the many evils with which I near you. Blistering hands hold the line that connect me to you. But then again, you know. Dearest sombre man of many moons, throw down a rope that can save this humble heart. That can lift the adventurous out of these lands of waste.

I want to be changed from the shadow in the tune.
Like water rushing over us, the tide pulls from the moon.

Your endless dark, scare only the weak. May those who stood out of line learn that the only way to know the truth is through your constant star. I boast no particular talent, yet the beam I feel upon my fair skin in the darkest night teaches me to see. Then those who wait far behind have a guiding light. I now know how to secure my life to your pull. How to soak in your light. How to pass on the teachings of your many visits to our lively scenery. The rope lays still untied.

I call this my garden, where sweet, reckless hope resides. Hope, that floats until it find its anchor. Day and night, labouring to harness this fickle notion. The moon stays unmoved, only heeding to the call of the tide. Then it moves and with it, you and I grab the rope to be near. In the vicinity of the magnificent barren landscape. No other force has such pull. No other force can sway masses of water out of its bed. Then you and I move with the swaying of the moon. When I find the dangling knot, I clench my useless fingers around it and wish to be pulled ever nearer to my sweet, reckless hope. Ever farther from you.

Tame these weights my master of astrology. Tame them so I can be pulled, away, to you. There are many hearts beside mine that wait for the waters to quiet, for the rope to appear. Time nears but the particulars fade. Once they have faded I no longer know how to carry you home. The glowing moon shines like any bright sun. Tonight it shines brighter than ever before. So thrown down a rope, for we want to escape. Escape the burden we have been laden with. And then stay tied to me so I can float above the land I once loved. Sail me around the parts I have missed, but never let me untie myself from the journey I now willingly undertake for an eternity. You and I, my constant moon, we shall see the good and bad and learn from each wicked heart the truths about the human spirit. Then you and I, my constant moon, we will call for the end. With bleeding hearts we will quit our travels and stay forever tied in the ether.

Then and only then can you stop your pull.
Then and only then can you part with the tide.

My Treasure, My Words.

If it weren’t for you, my words, I would be a passenger drifting through the dark night. I would spin directionless down the slippery slope of life. If it weren’t for your empowering assurance, I would have already given heed to the gravity which pulls at my heart. But I stand in the middle of an empty field, breeze rushing through the tips of my finger, the sun forcing my eyes to close at its might, confident of the solitude and loneliness. Confident of the grace with which each vain attempt brings me closer to some sort of enlightenment. Never have I been sure. Never can I be sure. Never do I want to be sure. The beauty in each word remains by the ambiguity to conquer. To command and  conquer. To rule and subject to. To stay silently in the shadows and watch from the sideline as each well placed word hits the bull’s eye.

I am half a person without my words. They clad me, protect me, empower me. I hide them from the evils of the unforgiving world. Only rarely are they allowed to face the harsh critics. I am responsible for every word I set out into the world, for they can build walls, cross oceans, bring water to deserts of sand and rock. They can pain and heal, have the power to create and destroy. We live in peaceful tranquility my words and I. It’s seldom silent or boring. It’s mostly loving, at times fearful and doubtful, but with each night passing cleared of the hasty despair of the cruel day before. We watch the sunset over hope street and hold onto each other until the next time there is reason to surface.

We nurture this dream, my words and I. The dream that cannot ever become a reality for in the process it would break arms, necks and hearts. It would maim the soul. So with all our efforts, my words and I, we nurture this dream. We stay intertwined, locked in sorrow and regret, but never allow anything to come between the sacred movements of creation. My words are mild mannered and well tamed. They long not for the bright lights of fame, only want to fulfill their destiny of silently repenting, preaching, guiding the unsuspecting reader. Together we weave webs to channel the ideas, to gently nudge each pair of eyes laid on our masterpiece towards all we know to be true. We don’t shout from the rooftop. We don’t wear ornaments that glitter or shine. We don’t call on ambivalence without purpose. We don’t aim to be anything more than what we are and in that we humbly remain.

If it weren’t for you, my words, I would be lost to the world. I would fall after each step, cry after each battle lost. I would hide like a hermit and let all moments pass me by. Without you, my words, I would never be sure. With you, my words, I can never be sure. But you help me and for that I will indefinitely stay indebted to you. Thank you. And then it hits. How would I know if this was it? How would I know for sure? How can I let you take the lead and how could I not let you lead me to wherever we need to get to together? If it wasn’t for you, my words, I would not be who I am today. If it wasn’t for you, my words, I would sit here empty and broken. If it wasn’t for you, my words, I would never know this much love. I could never give this much love.