Slowly cloud drifts in dusk light
as night comes closer
suspended over the remnants of a day.
The view from the window is full
of silence, solitary, almost opaque,
creeping in the darkness.
A tree in front stands motionless,
as if it were waiting for the moon,
leaning gently into the night,
as if listening for her,
expecting her to rise over the mountain side
and shine her fullness bright.
And all eyes will look on at her beauty,
see how she sits in the sky
dressed in an infinity of stars.
And suddenly you’ll feel all alone,
touched by such vast space,
and you’ll weep hot tears in your aloneness
knowing that no-one and no-thing can save you
The first morning shivvers do not realize the long arm of sunlight
reaching out into the shadows,
touching the hidden cold with its warmth.
Soon time will seem suspended
at the apex of the day
and everything shall bathe, shadowless,
just for a moment,
equally under the sun,
as if all life were denying Time its march across forever,
feeling the burning of its belonging:
that all life was once a star.
something that says that we dream too,
and in that dreaming create worlds which we want
because sharing is what makes us feel real.
Though at times our voices are silent,
as if a bridge between ourselves and an angel had been broken,
that that Beauty inside had been lost to us
and we are like shy children
hiding from our own lives in embarrassment.
Yet there is nothing to be ashamed of,
even those things we’ve said and done in anger
something that says ” I am Human”,
that what I feel is nothing special,
that feelings are what happen to everyone.
Our voice is the space in which they can be loved,
and in being loved,
recieved and communicated.
before, it shone brilliantly
flames of innocense,
reflected throughout many other galaxies?
Such darkness could befall any one of us.
That dreadful decent into nothingness,
that shadow that follows incognito behind, like antimatter,
wanting to explode
a sun shinning inside us.
echoes in those secret places
where words are whispered and
Where love flushes red and silence hushes
sounds of laughter
wanting to explode.
Here there is only playfulness,
a fountain of innocence,
a simplicity of life which sparkles,
like light on water,
and bounces off the walls
when shared with one another.
that child wants her mother,
those lovers somewhere peeking,
the old man dressing behind dirty curtains
thinking no one can see him,
the emptiness in that flat
pleading to be loved,
the smart phones already singing
instead of the birds,
messages sent to this brave new world
always seeming far away.