i am of white skin
i am not akin to the norm
an otherworldly experience
i sit by the door;
trembling of omnipotence
and i fall guilty
of the differ
yet i judge them
with a scissor

You sit at our kitchen table
Guitar in your hand
Playing beautiful melodies of love
And tunes from far away lands
Then at night you play with a rock band Hells Bells is their name
Music blaring
Heads are thrashing
The whole room goes insane
At the end of the night you pack up your gear
Head on out the door
Home to your sweet darling
To play your beautiful melodies once more

Somewhere along the way
we became lost
within the colloquial and formalities
of the hearts native tongue.

A brooding distance
of miscommunication
birthed no mans land
where utopia once flourished.

With your silver tongue
I am beseeched of bravery
to sow our seeds
for a blooming harvest once more.

But I am a woman
at the mercy of a winters cry
and I cannot promise you
the fruitful sunshine.

I know not how to show you
the storms on the sea
when your roots in the earth
rely upon the rain.

Somewhere along the way
we became lost in translation
no longer privy to but foreigners
of a language of love.

With your silver tongue
I am beseeched of affirmation
that love may still conquer
while lost in translation.

But I am a woman
at the mercy of a man
and I cannot promise you
anything but my tempestuous love.