Everyday Life

I listen to the soft tune

of your song.

My taste in music, a

wayfarer; picking up trinkets

along the way.

I read a book, attempt

writing one,

paint my listless hand

and all the while,

the lyrics flood my mind.

And suddenly, it’s not an

English man strumming his

guitar, singing a verse.

It’s you. And me.

 

We’re walking in a field

grass creeping up to our knees,

our fingers brushing against

blossoming bluebells.

We fill the

whimsical air with

our words, plucked from corners

of our memory. We discuss

war, politics and love.

We stand, facing each other

nervous and raw,

stripped of the walls

that protected us.

And imprisoned too.

 

We stand together,

in comforting silence.

You’ve got a shadow of

despondency lurking

in the abandoned alleys

of your beautiful mind

and I’ve got my demons

feeding off of my worst

fears, projecting a reality

of nightmares.

But here we are

or rather, there we were,

arousing the children within

at the tease of the rain.

 

It’s twelve-thirty now

I don’t remember the

last time I saw what

twelve thirty was.

Talking to you, I plunged

into a sea

free from suffocation and

we swam together

to undiscovered depths

of our oceans.

And now here I stand,

dipping into the starless sky,

lost.

 

But I hear it and I listen,

I listen to the soft tune

of your song.