If I was a dreamer like everyone else

If I was a dreamer like everyone else, would the sun glitter as brightly? or would I be more attracted to the moon?

Do you think I'd say as much as other dreamers tend to do;
or would I keep my mouth shut tight, only smiling to kiss you,
to tell you that I loved you and that the night was black,
or that the stars were headlights and each planet a component of tarmac?

Do dreamers tell their worlds apart,
or is every dream the same,
identical in end and start
and common to the name?
Am I a dreamer like everyone else,
or is my world an apple tree -
one that grows and lives and dies in simple unity?
with what exactly I don't know,
to be sure, neither do you,
but apple trees grow rather well
when you let them do as they will do.
If I was a dreamer like everyone else,
I don't know who I'd be.
But I'm quite content if we exist
with you as you
and me as me.

One Day ~ May 6 2013

One day when the wind blows lonely over the golden grass
and the earth creaks around on its backward axis,
I shall say to you "I love you."
And one day when the silver spirit of the moon has glided away to far off galaxies,
you shall say to me "I love you."

When the sun is faded to a husky brown
and there is no difference between the day and the night.
When the ice won't freeze and the ice won't melt
and everything hangs in the balance of light.
When the sea is neither blue nor green
and eyes have neither watched nor seen,
and dreams have been and gone long ago,
and the world is coated in a dull white snow.
When the air is warm but carries hints of the cold
and no crops will grow for fear of growing old
and laughter and weeping have merged into one;

We shall say to each other,
"What have we done?"

 

What have we left behind?

Can we change what we're going to leave behind?

Love

it's eating away 

at my heart

big and dark and dangerous

it's chewing its way

into my heart

long long slow slow 

crunch

crunch

LOVE

Identical Smiles in my land

The winds of change are moving over the land

And the moon never rises on a similar scene,

Yet the eyes of the present are blind to the past

And the changes blur to a gentle acceleration

Where only separation can force the division

Between then and now,

And why and how.

Only gnarled ghosts remain of the colonialist hand

And the ancient tribes have been machined to dust

Which settles on people and on the land

Blanketing out all the sense and reason that supposedly comes hand in hand with time.

Instead a quiet has descended on rocks and mountains -

They shrink under the burden

Of a forgotten memory.

The braces of time have weighted down the corners of the smiles,

And forced them into a foreign alignment

That has sunk the quirks and gaps in the front,

Creating fragments of faces that dissolve in the sterile sand of the sea:

Never gone, but so far lost that they will never be found.

Only grimaces are left,

In the parting of the lips and in the eyes.

They depart from the clinical appointment, blank,

Colourless sheets blown by the changing wind:

They are all exactly the same, but in whose eyes?

Ignoring the wisdom of the past, they resist by shielding themselves

In the very armour that ghostly hand designed.

Safety in numbers, hiding from reality:

All identical faces.

For my young ones

Closely hold that dear heart near,

let not that sweet eye e'er drop one tear.

Dreams may come and dreams may go

but constant love will always be so.

Thus guard your heart, 'til it be ripe:

ripe to fall and ripe to fight -

wine, not grapes, your sweet heart be,

but wait, my child, be patient and wait.

Wait for true love's constancy.