STORIES OF OUR OWN

 

 

We hold each other, heads pressed together, fingers intertwined

The world is one, tangled and prone

Yet ours is our own

 

The leaves pass by

The weeds. The seeds. The worries drift by

The mist, it dampens our skin

The twigs, they skim cross our limbs

Gravity; it reaches, scratches, and strives to pull us in

Into its truth, its reality, its influence and cruelty

Its damaging voices preaching vain fear;

Its cyclones and sounds, distant and near

And yes, the pain creaks in, now and again

Bleeds through the cracks and rings in despair

It nicks. It scars. It rives. We tear.

The time; it rakes and reads into each reddened cell

But the years are a test, a test of our sense, to see what's beheld in this transient shell

Do we squander in fear, turn night ghostly white, madden and dwell?

Or do we fight nature's plight,

Climb towards the light from a shadowing well?

 

As for my heart and heart held, we choose to float free, to float through the years

In each others arms in our own hopes and cares

In our own mortal prayers

We walk to the sky on our own mortal stairs

Not theirs

We do what we love, see what we want, live as we wish

We look through the fields and stray in the haze

We drift and sway and dream life in our own fabled ways

We call to our hearts, our own beating hearts, in our own made up maze

 

We hold each other, heads pressed together, fingers intertwined

 

As we float through the days