Sunday, 20 December 2020

[ lions and tiger and bees...]

It's a strange thing
To be a dreamer
And wish the word would intrude on you
With the same dreams as you
And not the harsh ones it already has

When money seems more appealing than love
When security is more pressing than passion
When you close your eyes and see a cage instead of the horizon
No answer will satisfy
Only time and change will bring the demons to heal


If you turn your head just so, the thoughts tumble one way
If you turn it the other way, they slide back to sleep
Would that life were as easy as deciding to turn your face to the sun
Or close your eyes to retreat

If all that's between took form,
If all that's inside became soemthing tangible,
It would be warm blankets on cold nights, and whiskey with a kick. 
It would be dark chocolate and hot cider, rain on wet grass, and light in glass windows.
It would dound like the sigh of the wind and the lap of the sea. Like glass breaking and doors creaking.
It would be constant as sunrise and mysterious as moonlight.
But most of all, it would be the real things that sometimes we can't explain.



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