From sandy shore you stare,
watching the ebb n flow.
Your blue eyes like a stormy sea,
beckoning Calypso forth to thee.
To be one with the tide evermore.

She does not rise from her depth,
in fear she turns her eyes from you.
For if you were a maiden of the sea,
a queen, she would no longer be.

The salty breeze ruffles your hair,
causing a wave to crash in your mind.
a seagull's cry ringing in your ear.

The clarion call from your heart,
The clarion call from your home,
The clarion call from the ocean.

It calls you to return from the land,
Cast off your legs, return to your scales,
Become our queen and cast down the poser.

Come home to me, my true Calypso.

Writing is like talking to a beautiful woman. Pelt her with shoddy words and badly composed sentences and she slaps you and walks away. Splash her full of ink and you only get a cheap **** with ripped stockings and too many scratched out tattoo's.

But,

Caress her with your pen, stroke her with loving splendor, decorate her with words and sentences like sparkling diamonds and you have her attention. Use old pick up lines and you entertain her, for a while. Be yourself and speak from the soul and you entertain her for a life time.

She has a smile like a winter sun,
you want to warm yourself in it all day and miss it at night.

The sound of her voice,
is like a summers breeze rolling over the plains

Eyes like the old oak tree,
bearing wounds where young love have plagued it

Slap on a pair of shorts and an old shirt,
then you will get the picture of a farm girl ready to work.

Put her in a night evening dress and make up,
then you will have the head turner that all men wish for.

Slip off the dress,
then … well, you only wish to be the one in front of her

Bring the life storms,
as long as she is my mine and I can bathe in her smile,

Come floods of tears,
as long as I can be safe in the old oak tree

Come cold nights,
as long as I have a breeze to look forward to.

With a smile on your face,
but a tear in the pocket.
You face the world daily,
not cracking the mask.
Leaving the true face of you,
only for those that can see.
Blessing those fair few,
not just with the pocket tear.
But with the love held by you,
that is held in the other pocket.

Time and again this illusion takes hold,
The vision of your hand in mine to hold.

Your hair creeping out behind your ear,
Tempting my fingers to tuck them away.

Your lips breaking into a smile, teeth n' all,
Radiating my face with it's pure light.

but,

alas.

Illusions are all for naught, a pipe dream.

For your hand is not mine to hold,
It is his, the man I envy and hate.

The one tucking away your hair is not me,
It is him, the man that makes my fist itch.

Your sweet smile with teeth n' all,
Bathes the boy in all I wish for.

“Sweet lady under the hill, why are you hiding from me?
Is it my beard? I can lose!
Is it my teeth? I will brush them!
I know, it is my belly! Jog I will!
Yes, that should do!”

And off he went, jogging, singing his song.

“Sweet lady under the hill, where are you hiding now?
Is it my feet? I will shoe them!
Is it my hair? I will cut it!
Is it the hole in my shirt?
I need needle and thread!”

And off he went, jogging, singing his song.

From the parapets of life I see you,
hanging out of reach, but only just.

I reach out, your warmth brushing my fingers,
your smile inviting me on to you as you drift.

My mind tells me to back away, to run,
But it is not my mind to which you speak.

It is my heart which you have captured,
yours to play with as long as it’s interesting.

Your smile promises forever,
but your eyes say only a while.

The need for you burns my skin
The need to see you again draws me

I come to you, but alas for naught
I come to you, but you're attention escapes

You're life book has space for me
You have space, but only as a footnote.

I have been a gormless man,
Ibcome to you but ylwish for another.

My oaken refuge has burned to ash,
The warm breeze has become icy winds

Where has my refuge gone? my safe haven?
Where is this Ronan to go now?

Night after night I see you appear and I wait,
i wait for the friendly familiarity of you but,
night after night the light on my phone is dead,
always the silence, always the loneliest of lonelies.

Where has the bond gone I thought we shared?
has it’s crimson chord been cut by the fates?
you’re light gone from my endless night?

never did I consider you, who were my cornerstone,
in no world did I picture my castle crumbling.
never did I consider you would cause the tears I spill,
alas, yes, never did I consider.

The moment a dream dies in your heart is the death of a future
The future you have given up for another possibility.
They say, take the road less traveled and trod your own trek,
but what if you find yourself lost in the forest of life with none to trod?

How do you know the way you are taking will lead to your garden?
Will you ever smell the roses that color your sole with memories?
Or will your garden be withered with weeds when you finally reach it?
The only color left being the day before you chose the wrong future?

You speak to me little bird? Brave you are indeed!
I fly higher than all predators, see farther than all!
You fly in my view and try to blind me with only you?

Foolish of you little one! Do not come into my sight,
for if you do, it is likely to mean your doom!
My claws rip, my beak tears and my wings are of freedom.

No, nightingale will ever fly with the King of the sky,
you may fancy yourself a queen, but
the Wind is my Queen and the Sun is my Partner.

Now be gone little bird! My patience where's thin!

With a smile on your face,
but a tear in the pocket.
You face the world daily,
not cracking the mask.
Leaving the true face of you,
only for those that can see.
Blessing those fair few,
not just with the pocket tear.
But with the love held by you,
that is held in the other pocket.

The soft touch of your hand in mine dancing,
Your breath on me in a moment of passion.
The look in your eyes when you see me again,
The comfort in your arms after a hard day.

These are the whispers of my heart everyday.
The things which makes every beat worth it.
The things which makes every beat painful.

Has your heart whispered to your soul?
Do the memories of the past haunt you?

My dream has become a loving nightmare.

With a smile on your face,
but a tear in the pocket.
You face the world daily,
not cracking the mask.
Leaving the true face of you,
only for those that can see.
Blessing those fair few,
not just with the pocket tear.
But with the love held by you,
that is held in the other pocket.