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