Almost love

A vision, . . . .it must be, . . . what else?

An imagining, a poet’s desire, sculpted by the sound of the waves, the breeze and the setting sunlight. I pause, . . . do I dare move forward, surely something this beautiful has darkness within, handing it out as fate to anything that dares to try and capture it. Darkness, the darkness of the blind, the darkness that punishes those who believe they could stare straight into the light.

Spare me, I make no such claim. I am too wise to love something as hollow as beauty, I must love the wise, the loving, the pure. I must be better. Haunt the hollow creatures foolish enough to try and feed off you, all I am is a man who could not look away.

The bond though has already been made, the moth will flap its wings, it is how it must be. I resign myself to my fate and sit beside, wanting to reach out and confirm that she is real, that I am real. She looks away, with eyes that defy you to find anything in them except beauty. I try because I must, because I can. I try and I find hurt, I find pain, I find that the flame is flickering under the beating wings.

There is a word I must say here, I know it. A word that will heal it all, a word that will enable me too see past the beauty, a word that will let me see though I am blind, a word that waves sculpted ages ago, a word the Gods made as powerful as they were themselves, a word I learnt the first time I saw here, a word I knew a minute ago. I panic, I forget, its too late.

“Almost,” she says. She smiles as she says it . . . . . then she says no more. It was almost love and it was almost lived. Heaven and hell, an inch between two lips, it’s a big word. It has exhausted her, she can take no more. She gets up to walk away, to find someone who doesn’t burn her back. She leans closer for the final touch and I remember my word.

“Love,” I whisper. . .

I don’t smile. . . .

She holds me closer, lets me smell her hair for one last time. There is a tear but I don’t know who it belongs to. If only I had remembered it a minute before the word would have been powerful enough to hold her forever. I know she wants to look back, I know she will not.

The flame has won and the moth in his defeat must now try and live. The real world honks its horns and begs and prods. I think again of the word and I realize what it is, . . . .

Just a vision. An imagining, a poet’s desire, too pure to really exist.

The sun sets, there will be no visions in the darkness.

"Love", I whisper it again, I smile this time.

"Almost" says the wind.

How are you?

Phantom of the opera, the demon inside. You hear him again and you sit down, silently, with eyes that seek intensity, with ears that seek to shut down, with a soul that seeks to receive. You sit down and you pick up either that guitar or the word keeper with it’s glowing white screen asking you – what today? Who will you be, the joker with the hat or the one with the scars, the boy in love or the man in despair. And You, you move your hands, unknowing, unsure and you say. . . . . . let’s find out.

Still, no matter how many words you write or how many songs you sing, the unsung song haunts you, the untold story does not let you sleep or wake up without wanting to do the other. The question of who you really are remains unanswered, the strings laugh, the glow mocks, . . . . . . like they could have given you the answer. You were foolish to even try.

The masterpiece remains unwritten, the source refuses to reveal itself. Does it really exist, is it God? You lose interest, the source may be holy, as may be the elusive masterpiece but you realize you are not. You put aside the guitar, shut the word keeper down and reach out. You're unsure of who you are again, the saint or the sinner, the artist or the faker but you're brave enough to let those questions go unanswered a little longer.

You step out into the world, even scarier, you wander around unsure of what to do till you stumble into the smile of a friend. This makes sense. You can use this; use the surety of the voice, the willingess of the smile and the undeniability of the love; to find your answers. They can be your source. God needn't be troubled anymore, he's given you enough.

"How are you" asks the friend. An informal greeting, but nevertheless a effective method of asking where you've been, why you went and most importantly who you've returned as. You wonder who you are now, the friend or the lover, the source or the masterpiece, the wounded or the cure, the man or the dream. But you know you'll find out and wrapped in her arms an inch from her ear, you whisper in a voice that is sure, a voice that already knows.

You say . . . . . . "let's find out"

Cannonball

"there’s still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
there’s still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
it’s still a little hard to say what's going on

there’s still a little bit of your ghost your witness
there’s still a little bit of your face i haven't kissed
you step a little closer each daythat I can´t say what´s going on"


I think it's time there was an answer. Do I owe you one, should I? Is it not my heart to break, my soul to lose, my eyes to dream and to cry with. My ghost to ignore. My mind to not be able to take off you.
I knew that before you did.


"stones taught me to fly
love, it taught me to lie
life, it taught me to die
so it's not hard to fall
when you float like a cannonball"


For how many years now have we played this game. How many times have you hidden while I stayed with my face to the wall, counting, not being able to stop and turn around for fear of seeing that you are no longer there.
The numbers never end.


"there’s still a little bit of your song in my ear
there’s still a little bit of your words i long to hear
you step a little closer to me
so close that I can´t see what´s going on"


How many times have I crossed your house, your pillar of stone to protect you from your dragons, to hear you singing from above, hidden by clouds you had made. How many times have I wished that the words of your song were for me. How many times have I gathered the courage to come up and ask only to realize that there were no stairs.
Come away with me, I whisper, but you keep singing, safe from your dragons.



"stones taught me to fly
love taught me to lie
life taught me to die
'cos its not hard to fall,and I don't want to scare her
its not hard to falland i don't want to lose
its not hard to growwhen you know that you just don't know"


I could stay awake all night, just to sing his songs to you, to hope that he would let you forget that I can't really sing. I would pray that you would drift away, so I could get close to you without you moving away, so I could hold you, without demons, and know. That this is it, this is the love I can never have, that this is the love I must search for in vain all my life. Know that this is the moment I must fail to recreate my entire life. To know that this moment, is all I shall have to show for in my life and to know that it will still be a life well lived.


"stones taught me to fly
love taught me to lie
life taught me to die
so its not hard to fall
when you float like a cannon.

stones taught me to fly
love taught me to cry
so come on courage, teach me to be shy
'cos its not hard to fall,
when you float like a cannon"


When I wake up from the dream I shall tell the still waters not to fear. I'm no cannonball. Love has taught me to lie and I can float for as long as I need to. Let not your heart fool you, you are free. You always were.



*** The "...." are the lyrics of cannonball by Damien Rice

A bitter man

He died an old man
His bed smelt of bitterness
His first words to the lord were
"You should have taken me when I was young"

A few days before that
He could still fight the tears
The pain in his bones he couldn't ignore
But he could remember the songs he had sung

It was a few years before
That he no longer liked music that was new
He heard the same songs, played in loop
But the youth and their 'music' ceased to be pure

He knew his youth had gone
Long before the doctor told him so
He knew it when he ran out of the rain
Because the tie he wore had a presentation to show

In his youth the rain had smelt of love
Of passion, of purity, of the girl he was with
Love made the world make sense while it lasted
And though he no longer thought he was God he still loved the myth

It was tough not to think he was as a child
When he could laugh at the mistakes others had made
When there was no time behind, no omni present report card
No reason to walk on the path the others had made

The seed could still believe it was a flower
Even when the thorns started to appear the rose was still a dream
But when the bark grew its thick hide the hope was last
He was just another tree in the forest fighting to reach the gleam

When he finally saw God he said, you should have taken me then
When I was young, in love and when my dreams were still free
God looked at the bitterman who's soul would soon heal
And said "at least now you're happy to see me"

Sweet child of mine

Why would you ask me if the stars are lonely,
If a world without love would be better than ours,
From which corner of your heart do these questions come,
Questions that no man would have an answer to

All I have is a touch that tries to say it’s all right
It’s all right to not understand the world we see
There are many days to figure out the answers
And one of the days you’ll see, you don’t need to


Why greet with love every passing stranger
Why trust a smile when it faked with such ease
Why my child, do you see such good in all people
It worries me how you walk into all the stretched out arms

I have walked amongst lies for so long now
The truth in your eyes often makes me cry
Why have I learnt so much that all I can teach is deceit
Tell your eyes not to try to teach me to smile


Sleep my child for your dreams are free
Dream it all before the world takes them away
Or perhaps you shall fight against those who teach us to fight
Fight for your choice to not fight at all

I am sorry my child, for this is the world I must give you
Wish there was another world closer to the heavens
For now sleep and dream the dreams only you still can
I shall stay awake to keep the nightmares away

A muffled scream

What is there to love,
In me or anyone else
I grudge you not your indifference
I’d just rather you hate me instead


I’ve been lower before and I’m still here
This life wouldn’t give up, there’s nothing left to kill
It’s not because I think I’ll win, I don't give a damn
It’s just that giving up is harder still


What is there to love,
In you or anyone else
I hate not your scars
I’d rather love you instead


You like to laugh,
I don’t mind your jeers
But don’t cry for me,
I can’t ignore your tears


To you who still loves me
I’ll keep giving you reasons to not
You deserve a better prize at the end
But I’m afraid, I’m all I’ve got


To the rest, the doors have closed
There's nothing in my sould I want you to see
I'll hate you forever and walk into the dark
Would still be nice if you'd walk with me

Lost

I shivered, did I not
As the first drop fell
As the trees grew louder
And the earth grew a smell
As lightning burst overhead
I shivered, did I not
As I saw the place of horrors
Where I knew my body would rot

The tallest trees, with vengence full
The longest snakes, as black as lies
The cold night and the wet grass
My last resort, to close my eyes






I smiled did I not
As I saw her face
Remembered the girl I loved
Remembered better, lighter days
And in my mind the sun grew tall
And birds chirped on those magic trees
A river called out from far away
Like music through the golden breeze

I opened my eyes, it was still night
I spread my arms and looked up at the rain
I shivered and smiled and hugged the cold
I closed my eyes so she could find me again