Fingers tip-tapping on keyboards
dance the dance
of dead poets before them.

glass and concrete
walls that do not hold
memories of home.

I have lived my life
surrounded by concrete,
bright lights,
speeding cars,
next door neighbors.

My own brand
of peace,
of solitude,
of quiet.

It was all an illusion,
for time has been filled
with constant
busyness.

Now, as I get older
I long for something
different.

I crave nature's wild sounds,
I desire impenetrable darkness
that holds my deepest secrets.

I fear that my thoughts are exposed,
what with all these streetlights
shining like dented halos
around my very existence.

Alas, it is not meant to be.
For as I draw near
to the end,
I suppose it is too late
to move towards
a different life.

I see shapes in your sunken eyes,
pressing like last night's lifeline,
telling you to keep your heart safe,
but I have to look away.

Please don't cry,
I can't possibly turn tears to gold.
I'm not the type to indicate
what should fill these empty spaces
and I don't know what to say
when you don't say it first.

When the shivering starts you'll see,
I can't be your blankets and late-night radio,
or anything you used to believe.
When those eyes mean oceans in mine,
you'll see how nothing I can be.

Strange enough to say that I am with you
Stranger still to hold you in my arms
The planets don’t align this way on purpose
I wonder if the moon surprises Mars
With serenades and unexpected flowers
With notes to say I’ll miss you while you’re gone
I hope you’re startled right into my orbit
Delight me every eve and every dawn