Why am I so bad
at loving everything I
love? I'd love to know.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
My Friend
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and they echo off the stars,
sometimes slow and sometimes running,
sometimes keeping time with mine.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I want to take your hand,
but your hands are full of lightning,
and your eyes are full of heat.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I'm standing clear and hoping
you don't know how much I worry
'cos I want you to be free.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I want to keep you safe,
but your heart is full of comets,
and your hands are full of light.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
keeping time with all your hoping,
and I'll pray for what you want,
and I'll pray it makes you happy.
and I want to see you happy....
and they echo off the stars,
sometimes slow and sometimes running,
sometimes keeping time with mine.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I want to take your hand,
but your hands are full of lightning,
and your eyes are full of heat.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I'm standing clear and hoping
you don't know how much I worry
'cos I want you to be free.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
and I want to keep you safe,
but your heart is full of comets,
and your hands are full of light.
I hear your foot steps in the dark,
keeping time with all your hoping,
and I'll pray for what you want,
and I'll pray it makes you happy.
and I want to see you happy....
Friday, May 14, 2010
After You've Gone
The sun's going down
on the sand and the smoke,
on the mist and the boulders,
on the moon and the ring
that it's wearing.
And the sky's full of dust
that falls in my eyes
but she's kissing me anyway
and it's just too much trouble
to blink.
on the sand and the smoke,
on the mist and the boulders,
on the moon and the ring
that it's wearing.
And the sky's full of dust
that falls in my eyes
but she's kissing me anyway
and it's just too much trouble
to blink.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
May Again, At Last
It's the first night of May and the trees are finally lush and fat and green and exploding with life like slow motion fireworks. The air is so soft and warm that you might not even feel it when it holds your hand while you walk the quiet streets of Saturday night.
And the rising moon's reflecting in your brown eyes, and the night wind is ruffling your hair.
And the rising moon's reflecting in your brown eyes, and the night wind is ruffling your hair.
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