love is an idiot,
far from in and out we fall.
while stars shine we'll fight in
deepest heart to heart to heart again.
to heart again.
to love again.
to love - again.

When I look at you, I see in Colour:

she sees their hearts in Colour
mysterious or bright
a richest Red, unafraid of fire and lit by beauty
or deep Blue- exotic, determined, quiet

of their stories, she spoke aloud
knowing more than she knew
thoughtful reflection of their souls
in a classroom in a corner of a city.

there was a girl, bright shades of Pink
bubbly and full of tales,
another of soft-spoken, girlish independence
Pink too, but of make-up and skirts on sale,

emerald Green, graceful and warm
a heart of open hope and rest,
calm Brown and lively Orange, together at peace
forthcoming and genuine and cheerful,

or White, clean as the unfathomable cheeks of a geisha
a girl well able to rule herself,
and one of proud Purple, strong
earnest, and in life wishing health and wealth,

and there was a heart in capable Yellow, luminesce
and she could choose to choose her place
one more, Crimson fight and chin lifted in spirit,
proven, she knew she could win rat's race,
so around this room, airy with nerves and dreams
with desire and ambition on every face--

she spoke their hearts in colour, reveal
to break their ice and let them gab.
on the doormat, wipe your heel,
and girls, welcome to nab.

kiss my hair. wrap your arms around me. cradle my heart. promise me nothing.

winter strength, frost and stretch,
colds winds gusting,
jeans and boots keep out wet,
chills and rusting,
fires, toasted marshmallows,
no need to go,
outside, silver moon and crisp,
and fresh, soft snow.

ripped pages, torn papers wrenched from hands white with desperation and shame
I'd hide my heart from you.
But I don't know that I should.
And I don't know that I could.

These are candid, my thoughts.
Honest, without pretence.
But sitting quietly, unobtrusively
Perhaps you'll never find them.

a warm wind wraps around my heart,
rippling river, twinkling stars, chalk art,
a hollow wooden body, tuned metal strings,
his voice wends its way through the night as he sings,

ain't no sun sign, and my voice meets his chorus,
from our hearts, but he sings for us,
and i take a breath, deep and slow,
and let my soul rest; for now that's all i need to know .

She stopped. She said to me,
I'm waiting for the punchline.
For the rubber band to snap.
For that moment of awakening,
When love runs out and reality kicks back in.

I keep expecting to wake up,
The dream to be over, the paper cup to crumble.
When I find him with another and remember:
his heart was just on loan.
And everything about me was a lie.

so, while the world fades from control
I ask myself whence love arose
if never from this dream I wake
I could not ever ease this ache

as in the words of Billy Joel
and so it goes, and so it goes
because this choice is mine to make
then you can have this heart to break.

and for a moment there, I lost my breath.. just for a second.

Instead, I cry at night.

could we keep walking, hand in hand? in a beautiful city, so bound in grey and brown but alive. without question. perhaps to stop to kiss and smile; happy breath and giggles that escape my lips like the inelegant tears of a leaking faucet, uncontrolled and undisguised. and perhaps, though i may not believe in forever-

i can believe in you.

perhaps that.

I want to drive into the sunset. And just keep driving.

He has kind eyes. The sort of eyes that you can look into;
the sort of smile you can believe. His confidence masks his
shyness, but it is the latter more than the former.
His laugh is a throaty chuckle, skipping from his lungs
in a happy occasion that warms the air and settles my nerves.

What do you think we can handle together?
Honestly? Anything.
I like that math.

I've seen the colour of hope. In your eyes, when you smile into mine.
I've seen the colour of strength. Deep brown, and the set of my jaw.
I've seen the colour of peace. Soft and heavy, your arms wrapped tight around me.
I've seen the colour of truth. Pained as the furrow of your brow.
I've seen the colour of fear. Piercing, fierce and agonisingly bright.
I've seen the colour of fight. Red, passion more ablaze than any failure. Covered. Dealt with. Accepted. Redeemed.

teetering on the edge of hope, hoping she'll fall in the right direction.

will her heart rally? i hope so.

What does my heart matter? Tell me.

that's genuine fear that has filled my eyes
the kind for which one cannot simply apologize
that which in my heart had begun to rise
 -seems to have fallen flat.

a future, lit bright with promise and joy
and hope, excitement like over a new toy
 -has evaporated.

where has it gone?
is it for good?
what does this mean?
for us? for Good?

does love have anything left to give?
any last rally? any fight?
a reason, a reason to let it live?
any call to leave love alight?

fight back. fight, love. fight for this.
fight for future, for present, for chances otherwise missed.
fight, heart. dont lay down and die.
fight. fight. fight hard. fight. this is my cry.

fight.
I, fight.

i wrote you a letter that you'll probably never read.
i sang you a song that you'll probably never hear.
i kissed you. did you notice?
do you notice?

i dont think i ask for too much. just enough. just enough.

i'd like to be magnanimous
to give and forgive
i'd buy you the whole world
if you wanted-

she was afraid, she guessed, of those around her. and who was she, really? to lay her soul bare and clear, on offer in quiet almost hope. more attractive, easier, to riddle and rhyme and mumble and smile and escape accountability. perhaps there are two types. of artists. those discovering and those presenting. most definitely she was the former over the latter.

-

holding steady
going steady
really ready?
quiet medley
hearts are deadly
deep and steadly
no hope. stop.

could in agonising patience she wait
when faith dictates forever
with chipped purple nails
and the roar of outside, outside
where to escape
                         she'll wait.

eyes clarion of blue, green
perhaps grey, framed by old smiles
strength and integrity and truth
soft, beat softly, my heart

amongst breath, you'll find me
twisted quiet and shyly waiting
breathless admission, fragile silence
hold, please protect my heart

honest embrace with steeled arm
gentle, trusted, safe
ignore all stuff and nonsense-
content, content, my heart.

Time, I guess, to write again.

But herein lies the issue: how?
And not how as in, how do I type or how do I wield a pen or even how do I call myself to arms as a writer. But how as in.. what form will my exploration take today?

Said.
I am not afraid to create. Nor do I fear never being heard. I fear looking at my writing and
being disappointed.

Perhaps to grow as "someone that likes to call themselves someone that writes" I need to focus. To write a purpose.



Purpose:

This is my call to writing. There's something that needs to be said.

It's something I can't escape.
Every other breath, I hear something that glints in the light and sparks for my attention. A lyric clearly confused for clarity. Morphemes moved for motivation and challenge. Something someone says that is just a little catching. Breathtaking. Cute.

My greatest hesitation is that I will try too hard. That I'll end up one of those writers; you know those that deliberately frame contrast, that are obviously seeking to confuse and imagine and say something that has never before been said. I mean, that's nice. But too much of life is about trying too hard and it's not something I agree with wholeheartedly nor with all of my heart. It is, for me, to seek to say simply. Invocation and inception and lilt. To not

be obvious.

I'll take a deep breath.



You know what I'd like to capture? That moment; the one in the sunlight. The one at the end of your sigh, when you open your eyes and really look for a second. With the grass, the smell of fresh ground coffee, the six strings resonating softly in a chord of accord. Of content. Of Promise.
It's not necessarily happy, that moment. It's both quiet and cacophonic; a little bright and yet heavy with earthquakes and thunder. And it's rare, we see, but always sort of there. Underneath. Underneath it all.

That's the moment I'd like to capture. All of them. Freeze-framed, lit with still harmony and lifted melody and sand and breeze and the slight smell of sunscreen.

her mind as busy as the street from whence she walked
an easy afternoon whiled in sunlight and wishes
fresh, fair and bright and hopeful
youth sweet, love soft and new

her quiet heart, gently beating
her precious hand to hold
dormant dreams, desires forsaken
reawakened
rife with reason

the question; assumed unanswered-
alight my heart
come, soothe my soul.