Monday, August 10, 2009

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

just set it free

so whats it gonna be mama?
you gonna let it be mama?

you give all your love and strength and joy?

you gonna spoil it rotten and buy every toy?
you gonna teach it all that can and all that you are?

who you gonna be mama?
you gonna be a mean mama?

or you gonna teach love and joy and all the beauty in the world?

or are you gonna just run right out of control?

you gonna leave all your fears behind?
you gonna be authentic all the time?

or will you dream an extension of a life you never had?

you gonna cripple its spirit with all the good and the bad?

who you gonna be mama?

you wanna let it be mama
you wanna let it be mama
see its spirit run free mama

give it love and set it free

just give it love and let it be


the Blower's daughter - Damien Rice

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Did I say that I loathe you?
Did I say that I want to
Leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...
My mind...my mind...
'Til I find somebody new

Monday, August 3, 2009

for you

I wish you knew
the way i felt every time i thought of you
or saw your face
your smile
your walk
your touch

I wish you knew how my heart leapt
the dreams that were born inside my heart
every time i thought of you
or listened to your voice
or felt your touch

i wish you knew

how i long to let you go from my heart
as i did from my life

i wish i could forgive the choice i made

that i never said
or the price that i pay

im glad you dont know
for youre happier this way

my stoic sense and self belief

when you follow riteousness instead of joy

how you haunt my dreams
in the silence between the thoughts you reappear
beautiful
perfect
you

i wish you knew

Friday, July 17, 2009

the bar is almost empty, save for a middle aged business man staring into his long warm whiskey, watered down by the melted ice, the glass leaving a damp ring on the polished counter.
a woman, maybe 30, sits alone on the far end of the counter, pretending not to notice him.
gershwin caresses the silence in a cliche of romantic rythms, the notes falling damply on the lush carpet, complementing the stale cigar smoke and the almost invisible barman.

the smell is strangely comforting, the large windows over the silent city lights creating a lonely air of separation.

the woman smiles whistfully, not wanting to give away the size of the lonliness that engulfs her. I smile back gently, but drop my gaze. I walk on by, to the window, and gaze thoughtlessly at the Tokyo city lights.

i barely notice as gershwin gives way to ella, and the businessman leaves the bar, his forgotten whiskey glass half empty on the counter, sweating its footprint into the counter, as if to emphasize its lonliness to the last remaining witnesses.

i breathe. like its the first time in years.

i turn, and the woman smiles again.
suddenly i love her like every woman i have ever loved, all at once.

i smile back




Wednesday, October 15, 2008

painfully, i wake.

the day comes much too soon,

for only in my dreams are you there

the day brings respite from the loneliness,

but its the loneliness that brings you

only in the darkness of my dreams can you exist

for its truth lives in the light, and you are not she

but in the dark

you are still with me

roses

As we celebrate the beauty of the rose,
should we not celebrate the sharpness of its thorns?