Illness of the Heart

I think it is an illness of the heart,
a sick and twisted state to leave a soul:
you keep a love you never meant to start.

I don’t believe that you would play your part
if I let down the guard I keep tonight;
I think it is an illness of the heart.

A love should leap free like the running hart,
not languish, fettered to a whipping post;
you keep a love you never meant to start.

What would you say if I were to depart?
Would you reveal the truth about your love?
I think it is an illness of the heart.

Perhaps we’re better off being apart
than trying to conceal the savage truth:
you keep a love you never meant to start.

I think your purpose solely is to thwart
the finding of the other half of me.
I think it is an illness of the heart:
you keep a love you never meant to start.

The Price

Living.
Living centuries.
Watching men live and die
watching seasons come and go
waiting and watching.
Lonely.
Traveling the road of solitude,
voluntary exile,
the prince of forever.
Searching.
Wandering.
To die and live again.
Rise.
Rise from the flames
new and alone.
No tears.
A brave existence,
a proud face for the multitudes.
Wandering.
Watch and wait.
Wait for something,
wait for someone.
So lonely.
So wild
so free
so lonely so long.
The price of immortality.

Roses

I brought you a rose.

It still has the thorns on it
because I didn’t think it was right
to take the thorns from a living rose.

We can’t take the thorns out of life~
but if we are very careful
with what we do,
we can hold onto it anyway.

And if we do get pricked,
it only hurts for a moment
and then is past.

But it’s not the thorns that are important~
it is the rose.

Sorrow Filling

To hear the sound of widows mourning
husbands passed and children gone away.
What more can be as sorrow-filling,
lonely closing to a dying day?

Husbands passed and children gone away,
wandering souls which never find rest,
lonely closing to a dying day,
some will die and some will hope for death.

Wandering souls which never find rest,
remembrance and longing to forget,
some will die and some will hope for death,
so long living life filled with regret.

Remembrance and longing to forget
to always kill the thought of passion,
so long living life filled with regret,
always action, never emotion.

To always kill the thought of passion,
that is man’s depressing legacy.
Always action, never emotion,
ever despairing that man would see.

That is man’s depressing legacy:
walking forward, never looking up,
ever despairing that man would see
what all the mechanics cover up.

Walking forward, never looking up.
What is left when the soul takes its leave?
What all the mechanics cover up:
an empty body with worn out dreams.

What is left when the soul takes its leave?
To hear the sound of widows mourning,
an empty body with worn out dreams.
What more can be as sorrow-filling?

Space

outer space
black as night
black as coal of dragonflight
housing many
lonely still
where nothing matters nothing will

inner space
red as the dawn
red as blood on newborn fawns
housing many
what you know
all the wonders of dreams grow

Sweet Sleep

sweet sleep
hold me close
you’ve always been a gift
take away the world
cradle me
give me silence
wash away my pain
and bind me
I give up
it’s too much
surround me
pull the door shut
give me rest
let me walk to the edge
and fall
asleep

The Empty Bottle

There’s an empty bottle in the sink,
an empty hole in my chest,
the first in an effort
to fill the second.

There’s a light in the hall,
a brightness ahead of me,
it lights my way
and leaves me in darkness.

I can hear my name,
feel a touch on my skin,
always with me
I’m forever alone.

Mother Night

Mother Night
Darkness heavy
Guard my soul
Protect my life

Mother Night
Goddess watching
Give me strength
For morning light

Mother Night
Silent Lady
Hold me close
In all I do

Mother Night
Ancient Lover
Bless my life
Keep my heart true