I’m sad tonight.
To write is the only pill I have.
I heard some news today that broke my heart, and here it is in my hands as I stand beside the world and become the sky.
Empty as the sky. Blue as the sky. Open as the sky.
How I wish I could give the words back, never to have heard them.
I see you, love, peeking around the corner.
Hold me now, in this sorrowful place.
There is sadness in the corner.
A beautiful sadness that calls to me, many a day, and I can’t help but follow. I can’t help but wonder why.
When life is ever so dear, and joy is found sweetly in the eyes of the ones I love, why is the sadness in the corner? When the rest of the room is flooded with colour; the corner.
Why is it aching, why is it grey?
Whole and beautiful life is here,
but the corner.
Why is there sadness in the corner?
I do not want this war.
This softness, I am.
I do not want this
war.
And yet, it flows
where peace seeks to be.
And yet, aggression is
somehow,
the twisted arm
of this peaceful river.
Must we simply flow?
There is a tear in my soul.
They want me to smile,
all the time, they want me to be fine,
this world.
But I am not
(though I am.)
There is a weeping tear.
A wound unhealed and breaking
ever deeper,
every day.
I will tell you this:
I am fine.
And I am,
six colours of the rainbow, fine.
The seventh colour.
It is a golden tar.
An aching soul,
searching.
An aching child
within the hardened walls
of a happy one.
It is raining, and I am alone.
And there is sorrow in these parts, and knowing that life is terrible and beautiful, all at the same time.
I am alive with all of that.
I am alive with the sorrow and all the quiet of all the world.
I shall drink some coffee.
I shall drink it well, and hold my cup with love.
Do not touch this softness.
I see you
angrily tearing at her bones,
leave her be.
Dear sweet, peaceful girl.
For she must rest,
she is weary,
must rest, she has been
battered and bruised
by the tentacles of careless,
careless life!
When there is,
in this soft heart,
a tear for sweet love departed,
a tender wave of grief upon the shore;
where do these small hands go?
How do I hold
and kiss
and whisper
each precious ache
into wholeness, once more?
There is an apricot sun in the distance.
There is a mighty perfection
twinkling in the eye.
And so it is,
the ache shall be
here
and I shall know her.
Until I have known her eternal home.
In the shadow of love
is the aching
of fear.
And I hold you,
love.
I hold you
and your beautiful tears.
Hush, dear soul,
there is no need to question
the aching sorrows.
For they are there,
as is the joy;
two faithful companions
on the road to somewhere
and nowhere.
Oh, dear soul.
It is true there are questions
unanswered,
doors left unclosed.
Listen to the wind and you will see
there are no doors
truly
to close.
Only the ever drifting whispers
of impermanent life.
Always moving.
Never arriving.
My, dear soul.
Yes, we are weary.
Yes, we shall row into the sunset
as one.
I send my heart
to those in pain.
Let me sit beside you in the dark.
Let me remind you:
darkness is the ship
to a bright new day.
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