Momentum moving us towards our meeting and our end
The space before the awaited
Moan to an End
What else do I have here,
Except my pen and my paper,
Thoughts to spill out on the page,
From the confines of this cage.
Ink and Hand,
Scribbles and Feet,
Walking by on the street.
What else do I have here?
My pen sticks to the page
And the ink refuses to flow.
I boil over and dirty my own stove top
I am begging you.
Just carry me home.
So, again fear closes our roads, builds walls where bridges should be, and floods the land creating only islands.
Wanting to tear down the borders and explore foreign lands, learning more of ourselves, of unity.
But to blur the line between we are told is only for behind closed doors, is an intimacy to rich to share in passing.
So, alone we sit, on our personal land masses and pray for draught, for only then will separations evaporate into the nothingness which they are.
I want to reach out my hand to a stranger.
I want to go somewhere with you, be somewhere with you.
I am afraid my heart may bust all over this table
And the nice lady behind the counter will have to clean it up.
Let me touch your heart
Spread my palm around your pulse
Beat and Throb
Grow and Sob
Rise to Release
And let fall to reach
Ride this Wave
Let it Rain
Let’s put on our favorite underwear and dance in our socks.
Slide across the living room floor.
Crank my favorite song
We don’t know the steps
And that’s always best.
In the darkness of my room on someone elses rickety bed, I speak into the shadows asking for embrace. The vibration moves through space without a soul to hear. No body to absorb my sound waves. No friend or lover. Only me. I want to sleep I think to myself but I cannot imagine why. Are not these moments the very essence? It is a sweet dull sadness that stays and sits within. Every now and then sharpening with a breath and then again, evening.