No more ''I love you's''
I can't stand one more bittersweet lie from you
No more pretending to be mature like some of those rare adults
I will not swoon from her joyless insults
No more stupid smiles and hugs
I can no longer breathe with my two lungs
No more naive little words to destroy me
Now I want to be free
No more bringing me down
Because I hate the feeling that Iv'e drowned

her mind was as open as the crystal blue sky
but she was lost in the cage of her heart
the one she carries with her
covered with a fine silken golden cloth
the one one  that she has attached jewels to
attached tales of Madrid and the
travels she made as a young girl
it was on one of thouse dusty roads that she found this tale
written on a placard that reads so well
like something Hemingway would have said
that reads like a key to all the closed doors in
any city of the ancient world
forever sealed
by times jewel encrusted hand
by the golden trim left the passing of
thousand pilgrims on the road to divinity
the rain had swept away the tastes of yesterday
and leaving behind a scent to the air like rebirth
like a second chance for this one run filly
all the heads hang low in the humid sun
all the thoughts come to the coming carefree night
but as she steps carefully through the picked fields
carrying her basket of treasures
her soft cotton dress revealing more than it hides
she sings sweetly to me
in a voice only i can hear
of a dusty road near Madrid
of a sweet young girl that she was once
and in her heart still is
i pull aside the golden cloth
and unlock the cage
for some beauty's were never meant to be
captivated by any less than
real love

damnable heresies of the public mouth
spoken with such lack of leisure as to lay to rest
any notion of that we could go home forgiven and rewarded

damnable heresies of the public mouth
it speaks to the common mans basest fears
so to keep it to its brief dance on needle tip
they make us guess at the script of the
publicly performed production

while there it shone with
such dense bright light
to challenge even the sun
in her ancient chariots ride across
the vault of sky
to challenge even the darkest
of leather skinned harlots
whos nightly trek weighs upon them
till their weary eyes shut
and they slip to a dreaming of innocence once again
they dream they are children again
climbing in a world of trees

were it that we were children again
that some shiny trinket
could purchase from the day such
smiles and joys in you
that this darkness would be
forever banished from your life
that you would be reborn
to the warm heart i hold so dear

but it is heresies of the heart to wish such things
and that dear friend is
another poem altogether