I never thought you’d make me cry
Until the night you asked
You asked me if there was anyone who could possibly see you
See you the way I’ve seen you for so long
My heart is aching
I want to shout
I feel defeated
Defeated because you can’t see!
See what I thought was so apparent
So I'll sit here and cry myself to sleep tonight
And admit the defeat that I never thought I would

Time keeps her moonlight
dripping, day after day
breaking, we reach toward
something beyond us:
We consider the lilies, the birds,

The trees budding promises into the air,
The breeze tasting of rainwater,  
The chalkdust collecting in our open palms
like childhood dreams, in our hearts.

Pulled forward from the shadows,
Fast, by the spotlight of spring.
We are understudy actors:
finally on the stage, but surprised
by the drama of split tea,  
rainkissed pauses, and almost burn
down the apartment.

All the while, the moon smiles thinly:
time-light in the sky, in our eyes.

We've a long distance yet to travel.
Our footsteps press into mud and freeze
toward the West, where we learned to be happy.
I gaze East into the unknown,
not quite deciding to be brave.
While you search heaven for a piece of your soul:
The skylark, ascending.

Water under
the bridge,

rolling
and
tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge,

trees
bend
in a breeze.

A  lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars
ignoring
their
true
light.

A *****
strikes
the earth,

over turning
a crawlers
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fires
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the
night's sky.

The tiny town's
talented tailor
swiftly sews silken suits,
in his shop he plays the Wailers,
Bob Marley fills his boots.
Beside his shop
sits Susie's Sushie,
she serves him lunch
every Tuesday,
he leaves a tip because
she treats him well,
he's got a crush
and she can tell.
After lunch
it's back to work,
measuring here
and stitching there,
everything is done
just savoirfaire.
All the town folk
say he is the master,
he smiles at this
and works all the faster.
Then on the corner
the clock strikes five,
with the last suit hung
he says enough of this jive.
He shuts the light
and locks the door,
nine bells tomorrow
he'll be back for more.

Sometimes when ev'ning lamps are ebbing low
And all the earth lies hushed in solemn sleep
Within my lonely heart there burns a glow,
As lengthening shadows about me creep.

My weary glance falls o'er the dismal room
Where with rapturous eyes I seem to see
Beyond thick cobwebs, dust and direst gloom
A merry host of friends-my own library!

Worn musty books on shelves from olden days,
Brittle pages yellowed by hands of time,
Illuminating night with gladsome rays,
Lifting my bleak spirit to realms sublime.

Trooping merrily before my rapt gaze
Into flick'ring lamplight I watch them come,
Quaint men and ladies of forgotten days;
Golden laughter echoing in my home.

Into my eyes they smile, murm'ring with grace
Aerial speech they blithely chat with me,
They seem to belong to another race
Wakening in my heart sweet melody.

Dying lamplight sputters and they are gone.
Vanished! I stare about but find I none
Save a drowsy thrush flutes with hush of dawn
Only myself in the parlour alone.

~Hilda~