The feeling of nostalgia is so foreign,
yet so wistfully timeworn.
like a photo of your ancestors
you've never met,

Or books written
in a once spoken language,
you cease to understand.

Such as a worn out toy,
that at one time brought joy
to a young child's heart.

Or the scent of a cherished candle,
kindling the remnants
of a distant, elysian land.

It's like a place you've never been
and will probably never be,
but the silent warmth it provides
is enough to put your weary eyes to sleep.

Every time I eat here,
I wonder if she’s still in the restroom.
I watch the cakes orbit
On refrigerated turntables—
a silent waltz for the ballerinas running omelets and coffee.
Back when she excused herself to the restroom,
the hostess was probably still in diapers.

The pelican’s wings are so wide on the horizon,
He carries the sun on his back as if it were wind.

His big flat feet arch and land,
propped strong and confident on cool metal.

I see him around our little island,
A confident lone traveller.
Never have I seen someone so sure of themselves and their place.

He guzzles his fish, he splashes sapphire water down his feathers,
And every day he lands assuredly on his perch.

Maybe one day I will have my routine,
Land on my perch and enjoy my life.

Until then I’ll watch him,
A part of me burning for such simplicity,
The whole of me happy just to see him again.

Clovers in the cold autumn air -
Alive for now and unaware
Of winter on its way.
No four-leaved luck
Can keep the muck
Of rainy days at bay.
.
I envy them, their mindless bloom,
The way they know not of their doom,
Of snow beneath which they'll rest.
For I know my approaching frost,
The summer bliss came with a cost,
And soon the crows will lose their nest.
.
It smothers me - the thought
That all efforts were for naught,
And I remain in this alone.
This cursed knowledge in my chest,
Claws at my soul without rest;
Poisoned veins, flesh, and bone.
.
The evening wind gives me chills,
Yet I'm impassive as these hills -
The physical can't hurt me now.
For my heartache is much stronger,
Its freezing cold lasts far longer
Than any weather knows how.
.
I care to deeply - that's my cross -
Then pay dearly for each loss;
My foolish heart cannot quit.
I can only hope to leave a mark
In your memory a tiny spark
Of the fire we once lit.
.

That mournful longing feeling
so sweet and yet so sad
wistful for a something
you probably never had

Waves of sadness as you wave in my direction. I see you go, I watch you leave. Just as the seasons appear and dispose of me. We take turns walking away, from people we never talked to. Wondering why it hurts the same. Hating that it hurts as all of these people go. Sudden realisation hit us one by one. As we wonder, and walk, and wonder around all the topics we may have avoided. The thoughts we’re apparently devoid of. Introspect, retrospect, dissect ourselves in this critical moment. Nostalgia knocking us over making us think and  making us feel, for once. A remarkable feat, it must be applauded. Ovation, overjoy, overwhelm. Over this. Over them. Over it. Time moving so agonisingly slowly, wishing away the years. Needing to escape, yet wanting to eternalise the way they make me feel. Nothing lasts forever. Maybe you should’ve, yet you didn’t. Now you’re all that’s left tell me how it feels. It doesn’t feel good, it doesn’t even seem right. Yet it’s a must and a miss you. The question has to be asked: why are you crying now? After all these months, why are you letting it hit now? Stay strong, be strong, be you. Be fearless and young. The golden years fade away into shades of blue and black skies. I wish you all well, and a happy birthday. Get well soon, get there soon. It’s all getting to me too soon. It’s too soon. How are we already here? We were all the way over there yesterday. Faces flash and second pass by with smiles. Frowning back, the question must be asked, why are you so sad?

You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days.
Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days
Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were.
But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away.
Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear,
That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves?
That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists?
That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God?

Don’t let it pass you by because
Even though it’s only out the train window if you
Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the
Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

like a deer drinking from a stream
in the clearing
I am clearing
time away
I am the wolf
amongst women
I am a jar
half full
I am residue
on the sink edge
dusty, smudged
I watch people on trams
I watch people on buses
I don't smile
I watch the deer drinking
I play with my hair
I stare
I am the wolf
from afar
I am
I am waiting
for the clearing to wilt
and stream to dry up
I watch the deer
I am

I follow footsteps I've never treaded
And go where I always wish I'd visited
When my time comes to a close
I sit and watch the water

I listen to whispers that were never for my ears
That live not in reality but in my ears
Phantom touches that leave me breathless
They drown in the water

I remember laughter rolling in the night grass
Whose memory retains it no longer
And as I mourn the friend I wonder
I sit by the water

My heart breaks to pieces
As I sit by the water