As days grow longer,
and nights scratchier.
She finds herself wondering,
why the wind gave up on her,
just when her legs started to run.
They ran towards dusk,
and dawn sometimes.
She reaches out to you,
when silence blends into nothingness.
When doorways shut to open to breathlessness.
So if you hear tiny voices,
know that its ok,
even when the voices say it isn't.
When your finger tips begin to disappear,
then call on Fitzsimmons,
he'll sing air-bells to you.
And you'll feel good,
for one minute,
and thats enough.
It's good to feel
like you feel something sometimes.
When you loose that feeling then the end draws near.
But the end is just a dot in your existence,
smeared away with one lil finger.
So when you're stuck in a grain of sand,
then its time to swim towards water.
Swimming on sand never really provided locomotion.
So we'll swim on sand when we have oodles of time,
oodles of thoughts to spare.
And I won't give up on you,
even though the sand may after a while.
To mailed glasses and cups of tea,
clearing away uncertainty,
and that lil thing called hopelessness.
No comments:
Post a Comment