Monday, January 23, 2012

I wear love lightly on my sleeves

I wear love lightly on my sleeves
Hardly conscious of it
You hold it carefully in your hands
Conscious of it almost every moment
I keep my love in ordinary things
Intangible, unseen
In books I pass on
In tunes I hum
In French words I don't understand
But like the sound of
In the frequency with which I check my watch
In the restless hours before I get to see you
In my ever-loudening heartbeats
Or in holding your hand
 Or the wind swept cruel cold evenings
 We spend together
Maybe lovers and best friends
 Do so much more
 But this is all I have to offer
This is all I know

And I am sorry I know so little.
 I am sorry it's not enough.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The problem with us

The problem with us

Was that we were too good for the world

Too silly, too smart

That we could live on words

We could for instance

Live on each other

And spend a whole Sunday

Lying on the grass

Laughing, eating,

Making speeches,

We would for instance

Cry for forgotten heroes

Laugh when the other cried

And scribble tear stained letters

That ran on for pages on end

How we ached for pain and sorrow

And departure;

Tragedies most of all.

But when we got our fair share of them,

How we try to cheat out of our sentence.

When I was in school

I would sit by a yellow lamp
And read all night long
Maybe just stop a while
Look at the non-existent stars
And pretend to cry a bit
Read a bit more
Glance at people sleeping in my dorm
(When I was in school
And everything was encrypted in codes)
Wonder for a while what they were dreaming of
Whether it was nightmares
Or dreams of Paris
Or just home
When home was some exotic place
And wonder about people I have never met
If I met would I fall in love with them?
Or would they, that moment
Be thinking about people they have never met too?

You gamble

You gamble
A dream as ancient as your being
For a newfound impatient love.
 Do the dead stop loving?
 Do the stars think of us at night?
 Do the Gods listen
To what we have to say?

Thursday, January 12, 2012

She is sitting by a fire

She is sitting by a fire
 Poorly lit
 Of paper and trash
We pass by
 Speaking of plane crashes
And budget proposals
She remins me
Of an old woman
 Who brought me up
As a child
 It is a winter's night
With yellow lamplights
 And cars whizzing past
 And pedestrians crossing
 Did I inhabit such a life once?
Because it sends me a warm feeling
 Not repulsion, not pity
 Just this strange sense
 Of a place I once knew
 And loved and belonged to
A stage of life
Which I outgrew
And I am visiting again
And the ripple of fire
 Enveloped me
 And those glistening eyes
 Smiles, so wise
But I walk on
 I don't stop by
Perhaps she will forget me
 As another ghost walking past
 In the dead of the night
Who stopped by
 Thinking she was home.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

The heartbreak is not mine

The heartbreak is not mine
 But it kills me still
 The lie is not mine
 But maybe it is.
 Your lie
 I own
 Your truth
 Is yours.