my chest
doesn't scream --
it hums
with a stabbing pain
too polite
to interupt.

my soul
it still reaches
for hands
that no longer
reach back
to me.

Let us call it
exactly what it is.
 
 
Grand
Grandiose
Grandioso
 
 
gestures that leave me suspended
from a tray ceiling like
 
 
a glass chandelier hanging
on a string of beaded words.
 
 
It's all very
 
 
Grand
Grandiose
Grandioso
 
 
until the
string is pulled
too tight.
 
 
 
Then there will be
nothing left
but glass, beads,
 
 
and broken hearts
on a marble floor.

isn't it strange, that you meet yourself in different people, in new faces,
The person you witness and become, the imprint remains
It is part of you, subdued but brewed like cyclonic wind
Decode others with empathy, look beneath the eyelids
The door to the soul, it looks just like mine
From the exterior, what is, all these coverings?
We have hidden the warmth quite beneath everything.

Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true
Before our departure, I’ve some things to say:
Don't die with your music still inside you.

From boys to men, together we grew,
Nostalgic memories of how we’d play.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.

Twenty-five years, each version brand new.
I’m proud of how you’ve carved your way.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

You stayed close when I switched my crew,
Loving a man we once called gay.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.

For you, there's nothing I wouldn’t do.
We’re growing older, slowly turning grey.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

I’ll always be there, even without a clue.
Live your life fully, don’t let it decay.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

I see the shape of things
As they shift
And slowly change.

I feel the weight it brings
As they chisel
And carve their names.

As the clouds move through their lives
They stretch, and pull apart.
No cloud will ever be the way
It was back at its start.

Maybe we are as those clouds,
Reshaping as we go.
No need to be ashamed nor proud.
Simply travel where winds blow.

Maybe we could learn from them,
Who exist but do not fight.
Face reality with grace, and then
Do the same in the windy night.