kiss your head
sweet dreams
sweet dreams. what more can i wish for you. i wish so much in these dwindling days. i would see your strength return. so broken. for so long. two people, and the cord between.

i would walk this earth with you.
hand in hand.
under an april sun.

sweet dreams
sweet dreams as you sleep.

i love you.
with my words i say i love
with my actions, i can say.
but then without words,
what is there.

just the is-ness of this.

===========
i love the two of you.
conflicted cord.
by turns pulling away.
but when you push you cannot help but walk a little closer.

i think there is a germ of truth in there,
buried under two decades worth of ***** laundry
a festering pile.
as much as words can say the truth,
casting shadows on the wall,
an illumination that alludes to form.

should you clean it now?
should you clean it now?
you have both eeked out your existance in the dark.
Some rays of sunshine peeking through,
at times.
should you cast off the comfort blanket
the oppressive warmth of an unspoken history?

what now,
in the last light of this day?

A suitcase spills from an ocean liner
clothes float like fairground ducks.
A notepad spills ripples as it sinks

Beautiful markings,
words chosen and composed
crystalised moments dissolve

salt
to a salty sea

clothes are hooked up
hung to dry in the sun like prayer flags
seemingly unchanged

I stand forwards upon the prow
Perchance ideas may return

Refreshed truths
in briny spray
awaken my skin

A new moment!
New words!

Is the door seen and walked by
Worth more than the infinitude of others
Which don't catch my eye

I cry salty tears
For the beauty of the skipping stone
that kissed the water three times before sinking

My mind plummits like the stone,
Chilled in the depths of thought.

Let the sun dry up my tears, and shine my eyes.
Let it kiss the stones still upon the shore
Universally placed
Year, upon year, upon year

This song isn't about sharing my bed
This song isn't about getting ahead
It's for civilized heathens, scraping the sky
ruling the ground from 100 floors high

This is a song about money from war
Bullets born in factories to unleash gore
Torn skin and muted dreams
Mother's cares and visceral screams

This is a song about the weakness in me
Pondering deeply how to change what I see
This is one from a man without a gun
From a place where the days are just fun in the sun

I see the news,
Oh what can I do
I see the news,
and feel abuse

Why do they fight
when will they stop?
how can I right
the men on top?

I just want a bit of love and some humanity
Sharing food and maybe sharing opportunity
I just want an end to inequality
Don't need to feel a lot of power coming through to me

If you know what to do then comment below
Because I don't know how to start the glow
I don't know how to set a blaze in the sky
To keep the evil away as we cry

A sensual spirit playful
I hold my love letters
above the blazing flame of your beauty
As they heat,
  the past nearly catches fire
  memories to oblivion
  and a new warmth
  a new light
But no
not tonight
I go home.
To put these letters
back in the soft pocket they live in.
Unchanged, it seems.

I sleep
you die
I walk pavements as you cry,
I towards a bright red bus
You see Evil gates untrussed.

Not here,
but where you are.
Limbs are torn by flying masonary,
wails of pain pierce the air,
no one said this life was fair

Not here,
but there.
the death of loving family care
tears race through dried on dust
there's no one left that you can trust

I want your voice to take my thoughts away
I want your voice to lead me for the day

But I don't like who I am, when I listen to you.
I don't like who I am, nor do I like what I do.

For though your voice is melodic, and hypnotic,
  and far more artful than mine (moaning and neurotic),
the trouble is that you don't really know me,
  you cannot hear what I say,
and though your art goes on,
  I am wasting away.

As even though you write,  with body, mind and soul,
you're anaesthetising me,  and I'm losing control.

A billion voices in support of their cause
A billion voices firing without pause
Today I choose to turn you off,
  to forsake the never ending search

I choose the voices,  
  with which I can converse
I choose the voices,  
  that can see me getting worse.