Raise me up, atop the river of oceans,
And baptize me under the wings of the stars;
Soak me in the still waters
Of boundless transience,
And bathe me in the blood of the waning moon.

Raise me up, above this bed of earth
And make me drift above the pillow-like clouds
That trail the skies of black and blue,
And wait for them to fade,
Just as the darkness will,
When the day runs its course.

Raise me up, above the chains of time,
And drop me on the face of everlasting feeling,
Of infinite tides that crash upon the shores
Of fading memories, of translucent pasts,
And let me drink the water filled with
Certainty and guileless candor, pray
That I'll remain here forever,
That the beach I lay atop won't
Clump and fall and sway and tumble
Into the empty pits of
Forgotten promises and unsaid words.

Raise me up, against my will,
Above the plains of grass and roses
Of black and red, steal me away
And tap my eyes with the lucid
Dreams of my seething impermanence,
And sting me with the daggers of
Regret and redemption, of
Begging to remain for just another moment.

Raise me up, and let me soar
Atop the summit of banished wishes,
And let me cast my body away, let it
Fumble down the rocks and pebbles and boulders
On the slopes of passing instants,
But let me, my unbreakable soul,
Stay right there, frozen in the midst of
Feeble remembrances and sprinting clocks,
And let me know, just this once,
That I haven't lived until I've been lost.

I've been sitting
Atop this lonely spot
For as long as I can remember.
But time does not affect it, for time
Is a pure abstraction
Of my ephemeral presence,
My waning consciousness.

I drift like a cloud,
Sway like a stray hair,
Waiting for the dawn that won't arrive.
The day when you'll grab me
By the soul, scan the pages of my heart,
Look me in the eyes without
Innumerable distraction,
And treat me as a human,
Treat me as a mate,
Treat me as a love.

I'll wait while you take
Solemn breaths upon the
Dying waters of ignorance,
The calming tides of playful banter,
Meaningless discourse,
Wait while you run
Through mud-stained plains
Expecting to stay clean,
Wait while you cry tears
Expecting not to get wet,
Wait while you speak words
Expecting nobody to
Remember what you said;
I'll wait patiently, obediently,
Hoping, praying, that one day
The tormenting clouds will part
And reveal the omniscient light from above,
That it'll cleanse the world like a rag,
And soak up the raw injustice
That stems from opportune circumstance.

But until then I'll sit here,
Unbound by the tribulations
Of passing time,
And I'll watch as the last
Grain of sand stays dormant
In the hourglass of our time on Earth;
But until the day you achieve clarity,
Until the day you feel what I feel,
I'll be picking flowers that
Sprout from the infinite soils,
Waiting for the dawn that won't arrive.

I remember, however long ago,
My friend called me an unsung hero.
And he said it in a tone of voice
As if to comfort me,
To console me for not being played
In the ballads of far-gone legend
Or in the soft-spoken stories
Told solemnly around a fire,
Smoke billowing in the air
Like immolated lost dreams
And falling, wistful pride.

And I just looked at him,
Unsure of what to say.
In those moments,
It's rather common
To be gracious, to be humble,
But I didn't respond in any such way.
It's because I didn't feel like the title,
Didn't feel as if I'd earned
Something to be proud of, since
I'd just been me for as long
As time had coddled my existence.

But when he said that,
I felt the world cave in like a tunnel,
Felt my ego dissolve as if it were
Being bathed in acid, and I realized,
Maybe too, late, that being a hero
Doesn't entail boundless wisdom,
Doesn't entail haughty accomplishments,
Doesn't entail inordinate hubris,
Doesn't entail selfishness like he believed.
No,
Being a hero, an intricate warrior
Is being a dragonfly soaring
Across a meadow of lava,
Is staying silent but
Loud enough for all to hear,
Is defending the passions
That bind your soul,
Is standing on two feet
When one's been broken,
Is guarding your heart
With a well-oiled pen,
Is fending off harpies
With an eager chuckle.

And I won't ever pretend
That I'm an "unsung hero",
For that would mean my path is destined
For a hero's end, a conceited flaw,
A predetermined death governed by
What I'd been trying to hide from all along.
And if I have to sail across glacial tundra,
Trek across scathing plains,
Dig my feet into caustic quicksand
Or walk along the surface of the sun
Just to prove I'm not the hero you perceive,
Then so be it,
I'll pack my boots and papers
And meet you at dawn,
Atop heaven's summit, somewhere
Far out in the distance, beyond
The twinkling stars and mystifying blackness
That swallows everything whole,
That makes heroes tremble in fear.

But I will not shudder, not falter,
For I am no hero,
But a well-heard whisper.

I am the liquefying touch
Of boundless intrigue,
The thin coating
Over the map of anthropogenic
Wisdom, the thick seas
Dividing lands and soil,
The clear droplets
That slide down windows,
Burst with energy,
Coagulate with brotherhood.

I divide people,
I join masses,
I scorch the Earth
And I flood its plains,
I drink the verve
Of fallen comrades,
Expiate the sorrows
Swollen with God's irate shouts
And I shake the Earth's core,
Pour my brethren upon
Boundless grasslands and plains.

I am ambivalent emotion
Sprung from fountains
Of unobtainable youth,
Spry and fresh like grateful pride,
I am light in darkness,
Confounding isolation,
Unbearable dissociation,
Conceivable admiration,
But most of all,
And this rings true,
I am life itself
And I stick to everything
Around me and you.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme le vent qui souffle
Par terre, qui me frappe
À cœur, qui me soulève
Et me jete au ciel,
Où les nuages me caressent le visage
Et me disent des mots
D'amour et gentillesse,
De force et de jeunesse.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme les arbres qui grossissent
Pour que je puisse les admirer,
Pour que je puisse les toucher,
Et sentir la soie de ses
P'**** cheveux qui restent
Dans l'air timide mais éclatant,
En attendant le couche de soleil
Qui s'avance à l'horizon.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme les fleurs bleues et rouges
Qui balancent comme des
Spectateurs qui écoutent au musique,
Qui descendent d'espace et embrasse
La terre, et tu es comme le soleil
Qui brille sur les champs,
Qui réchauffe ma poitrine
Et me caresse les lèvres.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme l'air frais en descendant
Le soleil, comme l'orange du ciel
Qui se couvre le monde,
Comme l'odeur souple des pommes
Qui accrochent des branches,
Comme le tranquillité de ne rien se passer.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme la nuit qui s'approche
Les villes et les campagnes,
Comme les étoiles qui
Me font penser, espérer
Que je peux t'aimer,
Ou te comprendre,
Même si le printemps devient l'hiver.

/

You're like the spring,
Like the wind that blows
Across the earth,
That knocks on my heart,
That lifts me up
And shoots me to heaven,
Where the clouds caress my face
And tell me words
Of love and kindness,
Of strength and youth.

You are like the spring,
Like the trees that grow
So that I can admire them,
So that I can touch them,
And feel the silk of their
Little hairs that sit
In the timid yet lively air,
Waiting for the sunset
That advances on the horizon.

You are like the spring,
Like the blue and red flowers
That sway like audience members
Listening to music,
Who descend from space and kiss the soil,
And you are like the sun
That shines on the fields,
That heats my chest and kisses my lips.

You are like the spring,
Like the cool air that comes
When the sun goes down,
Like the orange of the sky that covers the world,
Like the supple scent of apples
That hang from branches,
Like the peace of nothing happening.

You are like the spring,
Like the night that approaches
The cities and country-sides,
Like the stars that make me think,
Even hope that I can love you,
Or understand you,
Even if the spring becomes winter.

Chaotic words, chaotic thoughts,
Bombastic ideas and pensive deliberations
That float, even fly like volcanic ash,
Pounded out of the molten Earth as if
God were hitting the crust with a hammer,
And the masses of ash and dust cloud the sky,
Streaming like red and black chalk
Across the asphalt of uncharted thoughts.

And they rain, rain down
Like a tempestuous conflagration,
Beating upon the earth like mallets on drums,
Vibrating ever-so tenuously in the ears,
But resonating with verve somewhere within,
And then it stops,
Never to be heard or seen again.

And in its place are the bright rays of the sun,
Shooting light like a harpoon toward the ground,
Digging into the supple soil with a medley
Of confusion and anger,
Of apprehension and isolation,
And they burn caustically,
Warm the body as if they were pockets of magma,
Sliding across the flesh
And trickling into the pores, digging down
Into the heart, shaking it, squeezing it, weeping atop it.

And then the night comes on
As the sun retreats below the horizon,
And it brings with it the complacent lights
Of the stars high above,
That glow gently atop our brows and
Reflect dully off our shirts,
Dotting us with the paint-like
Stains of the unbridled release
Of laughter and intimacy,
Of love and vivacity.

And the placid night lights,
They seem to **** up all the heat,
Seem to save it from its vice,
And they dispel it into the great beyond,
Into the great unknown that stares down on the Earth
And renders it quiet and inhospitable.

Yet for some reason,
For some ungodly or unholy reason,
This night brings peace,
Even if dangers lurk somewhere in the dark.