Mar 2012
I wrote your name in the sand and drew a heart around it.
In the warm sunlight on the beach I was as high as a kite as I watched seagulls take flight.
I could have written you a love song, started a band.
Nothing was impossible as long as I could hold your hand.
It was bliss, yes that bliss that warm your belly bliss.
That feeling happy glittery bliss, that consistently from the rock of my subconscious hissed.
Pleased, at the sweet morsel of love it thought to have caught in its den.
Oh it was good, oh so good. But then so are lolly pops, lemon and dew drops.
Freshly harvested crops, and even the lowly mops when it is new of course.
Is beauty cursed to be ephemeral? Stuck with the surreal notion that it must end, and quickly so.
Because what I had was beautiful, precious, I would have given anything to keep it.
There is not a day when I don’t go back to relive it.
A shadow of a wisp but somehow I manage to see it.
Outlined, around the scar that it’s absence left behind.
A signature of pain expertly signed, on an intent of separation from that feeling.
Close your eyes real tight, now imagine what it’s like to lose your light.
Not really the kind of light that people fight for.
No that little bit of light within, shhh listen, it lives in held breaths and withheld whispers.
It colors your life and makes it crisper, it seeps into the cracks and adds flavor.
Yeah that light, the light that inspires love songs, ballads of loss that people drone on and on about.
That loss is enough to drive a sane man mad, running and screaming.
Shout to let it all out, that loss of color, in one’s life.
Oh but I will get over it. Right after all that is what well-adjusted people do. Get over it.
But something binds me. Hovering ever so slightly over this inglorious sea of misery.
Why because I can think of all the possibility. That energy of a rock ready to fall over the edge, seemingly wasted when it rolled back onto the ledge.
I quickly run over to the edge and look over that ledge at the long distance down. Far below the ground, what lies there.
I will never find out because the rock of our love couldn’t make it over the ledge of about.
Almost becomes a hated word, ostracized from my vocabulary.
It’s the possibility that kills me over and over again.
A knife dug deep in me when I think about what could have been.
Now I sit at that beach, and write your name once again in the sand.
Then slowly the tide brings cool water to my hand.
And I watch as your name disappears and disbands.
The seagull of my hope and love flies away unsure where it is to land.
And I slowly turn to walk away simply tiered of trying to stand to watch and wait to see where it will go to land.
In the warm sunlight on the beach I was as high as a kite as I watched seagulls take flight.
I could have written you a love song, started a band.
Nothing was impossible as long as I could hold your hand.
It was bliss, yes that bliss that warm your belly bliss.
That feeling happy glittery bliss, that consistently from the rock of my subconscious hissed.
Pleased, at the sweet morsel of love it thought to have caught in its den.
Oh it was good, oh so good. But then so are lolly pops, lemon and dew drops.
Freshly harvested crops, and even the lowly mops when it is new of course.
Is beauty cursed to be ephemeral? Stuck with the surreal notion that it must end, and quickly so.
Because what I had was beautiful, precious, I would have given anything to keep it.
There is not a day when I don’t go back to relive it.
A shadow of a wisp but somehow I manage to see it.
Outlined, around the scar that it’s absence left behind.
A signature of pain expertly signed, on an intent of separation from that feeling.
Close your eyes real tight, now imagine what it’s like to lose your light.
Not really the kind of light that people fight for.
No that little bit of light within, shhh listen, it lives in held breaths and withheld whispers.
It colors your life and makes it crisper, it seeps into the cracks and adds flavor.
Yeah that light, the light that inspires love songs, ballads of loss that people drone on and on about.
That loss is enough to drive a sane man mad, running and screaming.
Shout to let it all out, that loss of color, in one’s life.
Oh but I will get over it. Right after all that is what well-adjusted people do. Get over it.
But something binds me. Hovering ever so slightly over this inglorious sea of misery.
Why because I can think of all the possibility. That energy of a rock ready to fall over the edge, seemingly wasted when it rolled back onto the ledge.
I quickly run over to the edge and look over that ledge at the long distance down. Far below the ground, what lies there.
I will never find out because the rock of our love couldn’t make it over the ledge of about.
Almost becomes a hated word, ostracized from my vocabulary.
It’s the possibility that kills me over and over again.
A knife dug deep in me when I think about what could have been.
Now I sit at that beach, and write your name once again in the sand.
Then slowly the tide brings cool water to my hand.
And I watch as your name disappears and disbands.
The seagull of my hope and love flies away unsure where it is to land.
And I slowly turn to walk away simply tiered of trying to stand to watch and wait to see where it will go to land.
