The floor is warm.
Outside is still for once.
Notes of French accordions
swirl in my ears’ soul.
And there is a lost expression
searching for the tears within
that say: “You never meant a thing.”
Surging with unexpressed frustration
the Pain comes alive;
Reporting that all activity
points to a truth I’m terrified to see.
My mind drags itself around these walls;
only to return to the centre of it all.
Within four walls there is no escape.
I cannot allow myself release,
until I see the sunshine of my truth.
Every 12 months it comes to this:
Now I have no reason to feel or believe
this might ever be any other way.
The bed is too far for comfort;
The world unknown to me for refuge.
My company is sliced open
with dreams of you telling my heart
its better this way for now:
All this time the dead trees
flower with soft, cold snow.
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
The floor is warm.
Outside is still for once.
Notes of French accordions
swirl in my ears’ soul.
And there is a lost expression
searching for the tears within
that say: “You never meant a thing.”
Surging with unexpressed frustration
the Pain comes alive;
Reporting that all activity
points to a truth I’m terrified to see.
My mind drags itself around these walls;
only to return to the centre of it all.
Within four walls there is no escape.
I cannot allow myself release,
until I see the sunshine of my truth.
Every 12 months it comes to this:
Now I have no reason to feel or believe
this might ever be any other way.
The bed is too far for comfort;
The world unknown to me for refuge.
My company is sliced open
with dreams of you telling my heart
its better this way for now:
All this time the dead trees
flower with soft, cold snow.
(c) Mel D. Ltd. 2010
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