He questions me now.
Doubt clouds his every judgement,
Like he can’t trust himself, or me.
Questions drip venomously from his lips
Burning my sensitive ears and making me bleed.
The questions he asks are absurd.
They offend my soul,
Darken my thoughts,
Hide my love in a veil of hate.
The dark shroud closes over me now
And still those accusing verses leave his lips.
Would he still question if he knew
What I held in my hand, in my heart?
The love I carry for him is pure,
The hate ever mounting.
Still, he is a puppet to whispered rumours.
He doesn’t know who to believe.
He doesn’t know where to turn.
Does he know he is turning away the truth?
Will he ever hate himself for what he has done?
The blade sinks deep.
No, he would just keep on questioning...

I remember that night.
That night we danced under the moon
And sung our wishes to the stars.
Back then the stars were our goal.
We would see each other again.
Now I hold you, sleepy and weary
In my long embracing arms.
My writers hands caress your sleeping face
Brushing back locks of the darkest chocolate
From a face innocent with slumber.
I remember that night.
The moon mocked us with its glow
And the stars shone brighter with arrogance.
Everything was bathed in silver, that night.
And now as I look down at your face
I remember how you were then
And again I notice, in my heart
You haven’t changed at all.
You’re still my moon and stars.

I remember that night,
Like I’ll remember this one.

Reflections of the heartbreak kind
The memories left behind, left in lines
Memories of laughter, the lows and the throes
The hi’s and goodbye’s, the sights and the fights.

My reflection stares back at me, a mirror of my life
My heart that has pound from the very start
With fear and longing, from jumping and running
From anger and distain, passion and pain.

My hands stroke crow’s feet seated around my eyes
The door to my hidden secret soul, like a hole through me
Reminding me of who I wanted to be
What I have seen, done and who I have been.

Memories flash in my ever seeing eyes
Things I have tried, the people that have lied
The friends that were there and the problems I have bared
It reminds me never to be scared
In this mirror of my life...

I stand at the brink of illusion
Not knowing which way to trek.
Beyond the barrier is cold, barren reality.
Reality which comes to smack me in the face,
Reality which wakes me from my dreams.
I stand on the brink of illusion
Not knowing whether to stay.
Before the barrier is blissful oblivion.
Illusion that holds me close in my sleep,
Illusion that never lets me wake.
In which land should I venture?
Which should I chose?

Foreign,
The word whispers to me like a long-lost sister.
Things that I long to encounter,
Things that are strange to me, different.
The word makes me dream of better culture,
A language that seems so strange and eloquent,
Rich and exotic food to sample
And a bright orange sun burning the horizon.
It makes me dream of change,
Of how the word is when there is no war.
Country to country friendship and peace,
A universal shake of tinted hands.
Everything tinted different shades, instead of tainted.
I want to encounter the different,
Rub shoulders with the strange
And teach myself... Everything.

Love is a breath after near suffocation
A kiss on long awaited lips
The heartbeat after the fatality

Love is a promise after failure
A helping hand in a storm
The dream after a life of nightmare

Love is a friend after condemnation
A smile on a dreary day
The hand you hold after a fall

Love is feeling you ate too many butterflies
And the sudden irregular heartbeat
The blissful pain no doctor can cure

Love is a rope to hold onto
No matter how much it burns
Love is the wonder of firsts
And the many firsts to come

Shocked moans rent the air.
Your talented fingers pluck my strings,
Don’t they, my Darling?
The man with the silver, bladed tongue.
Not just useful for speaking, Pet.
Your hands stroke silhouetted hills,
Create a storm with a symphony of ****** notes.
The pounding of my heart is the drum,
A background to our orchestra, you said.
You command the stage with no audience.
Just you and me, like always, my Love.
You test the boundaries and break them
Yet you always go back for more?
Our next song is called Slow Dance.
I wait for more,
Hesitant touches, slow moving fingers,
You always make me beg.
This is our symphony, my Dove.
With a silent audience.