You are a balloon, swaying away in a ******* hurricane.
We are seas apart it seems
even sitting across each other.
We sail into rooms the same
hoping the Sun is risen.
Blinding as ever,
so this endeavor is not in vain.
So when we lock gazes there is no escape.
The pull is just as awing as the star
strong enough to pull these rafts
and drown us in these seas together.
BUT YOU ARE A WRITER
AND YOUR HEART DOESNT
FEEL THE WAY YOU WANT IT TOO
AND YOUR MIND DOESNT
WORK IN ONE SPECIFIC WAY
AND YOUR MOUTH DOESNT
SAY ALL THE RIGHT WORDS
THOUGH YOUR HAND SPEAKS
THEM FOR YOU
ARE A WRITER
Im staring at the moon
And I know its you
Im looking upon the stars
And I know thats where you are
The twilight sky
Reminds me of your simple eyes
The darkness around me
Is your presence guiding me
As I graze out into the land
I know your providing me a helping hand
Underneath this tree
Is where you told me to meet you at three (a.m)
That was the last night I saw you
And I know I will meet you again soon
Its these nights I miss you most
When I feel so abandoned and lost
You used to give me direction
But now I am constantly losing all affection
I see you in my dreams
Its not as easy as it seems
My dreams turned into nightmares
But I cherish the only moment I see you
Standing ghostly in the darkest night
I know its you
I was born for leaving,
Not staying stationary for months at a time,
I need to keep going
I need the air on my face telling me to go further
I need the rush of life that i get when i know im leaving everything behind.
Theres no turning back anymore
Its just a straight road whispering in my ear telling me that greater things are ahead of me but i have to keep pushing,
I dont know where im going
Or where im headed
But im almost there.
I'd phrase it as that I am trying to feed.
A man has to eat, eat.
When you take seat in a self placed aybss.
The only light burning is the one you reminisce.
Now days in front a furnace,
trying to resist the creeping darker forces.
Running you south, deeper down the forest.
Leading to your bliss and remaining torment.
Collapsing in my heart.
Swimming the English Channel,
struggling to make it to Calais,
I swam into Laura halfway across.
My body oiled for warmth,
black rubber cap on my head,
eyes hidden behind goggles,
I was exhausted, ready to drown,
when I saw her coming toward me,
bobbing up and down between waves,
effortlessly doing a breaststroke,
heading for Dover. Treading water
I asked in French if she spoke English,
and she said, "Yes, I'm an American."
I said, "Hey, me too," then asked her out for coffee.