Will I now forget your face
Since I do not fear you?
Will your wretched memory fade
And will I cease to hear you?
Has this day brought healing,
Or is it a passing feeling?

In those Summer days
When the green grass scratched my legs,
The mud cooled my toes
And I ran through the cold stream,
Pulling off green leaves
From the bushes by the house
And twigs from young trees.

Somehow the fall came—
I liked to call it Autumn—
And I walked slowly,
Picking up acorns and nuts
Before squirrels came
And quickly hid them away.
As morning frosts came,
I began to feel the chill.
Somehow the world changed,
As an apple will grow ripe,
And the world changed me.

In Winter's strong grasp I woke.
I looked around me
And in every grey shadow,
I saw a regret,
A what-if of circumstance:
A sharp memory,
Hanging like an icicle
Just waiting to fall.
Summer would sweetly call me,
And Autumn smiled,
But Winter's embrace choked me.
I would leave the world,
Fly back to the land of dreams,
If I knew a way.
I would cry to the grey sky,
Ask all the questions,
If I thought it would answer.
And so I slept deep,
Knowing nothing could be done
Unless the world changed,
Giving me fresh hope inside;
But it never would.

Spring has crept up to my door
It has knocked loudly
And shaken me from slumber.
Its face is grinning,
Smiling so wide, and laughing.
I've opened my door,
Not fearing a winter wind
For the first time now.
Spring calls me from my bedroom,
Asking me to play
And hang up my coat of doubt
By the scarf of shame
And the hat of my worries.
Spring pulls on my arm,
And even though it hurts now,
Somehow growing pains
Are better than the bedsores.
So take the shoes off my feet
And teach me to run again.

No one wrote me love songs
No one gave me peace
And no one showered me in happiness
More than you before you ceased.

But no one shouted hatred
No one gave me tears
And no one ****** my dreams in darkness
More than you, confirming fears.

Now no one writes me love songs...
And no one gives me rest...
But no one drives me insane
And that's why separation is best.

On this warm spring day,
The light peers in my window,
Quiet as it can,
Asking questions of shadows:
"Do these walls have ears?
And what does the clock-face see?
Is the lamp lonely,
And does the pillow know tears?"
The shadows answer,
In their sweetest honeyed voice,
"We gave the walls ears,
And the clock has our blank face.
The lamp loves the dark,
Just as the pillow drinks tears.
Won't you come deeper,
Deeper into our shadows,
And hear what we know?"
Will the light claim its homeland,
Burning up the dark
And swallowing the night whole,
Or will it shrink back,
Afraid to see the hard truth
That my shadows breathe
And the darkness grows deeper
Fated to hold the sleeper?

Shh
Be quiet
Please, not now
Your words are useless
They distract from my thoughts
My attempt at feeling every word
Sensing every thought and sign
Is disrupted by you
So please...no
No speaking
Shush.