Is this my wish?
The product of a paper tree?
Is this the kiss of fate, a date with destiny?
Is he my roses' rain, my poet's pain?
My happy ever after? This beautiful disaster?
Once the sky has broken,
it's hard to trust the sun.
Even the rain, it's not the same,
a different pane, perhaps?
My moonlight haunts me still,
but doesn't cross the sill in this new place.
As though it cannot reach me,
does not recognise my strange new face.
My tired eyes are wide,
but still I hide and seek.
I dare not speak.
My tongue may cut the clouds,
may burst my make-believe.
But this thing is real.
I feel it in the dark.
It pulls me near.
I hear it accidentally slip from lips
in drunken whispers,
only to retreat into the
silent spaces that we share.
Scared,
but I know it's there.
Is this my wish?
Is this my folded, knotted, once upon a dream?
My familiar gleam?
I know it's true
that visions are seldom as they seem,
but I know it's true.
