Saturday Dec 14 2013

(альбом: Old Soil (Spoken Word Pieces From 2012-2013) - 2018)

It's been exactly one year since I wrote that first poem about you
I sat in bed and started thinking about what happened at Sandy Hook
And how fragile life is
And how much I wanted you in mine
When you read it you said you teared up
And couldn't believe whatever this was we found in each other
You called it indescribable
I lied in the same spot a year later with you beside me
Emotionless
Thinking about how I watched you change with every season
How spring turned into summer turned into autumn turned into winter
How the purity of something new became as hot as the persistent day as it rests too heavily on tired flowers
And how when that tiredness wins
They die like everything else

I could feel my chest collapsing that night I sat in the stairway and read every word you had written to someone else while you were gone
How you teared up when you read the words he wrote to you
How you couldn't believe what you found
You even called it indescribable
Now I can't stop thinking about what those words might have been and how they compare to mine
I can't sleep because I need to know what you found and if it feels anything like what I lost
I'm sorry if I'm so stuck in this
It's just before you came along I spent four years with someone who would watch me watch the world but couldn't hold my hand and see what I saw
Someone who loved me so much but couldn't understand how a human soul could mimic the seasons
Or how a person can be fine for so long but wake up one morning wanting to die all over again
So when that feeling rises over the mountains all I ask of the world is that they greet it differently than pagans when they worship the sun

I am old soil mixed with the compulsion to describe what used to grow here
To describe the indescribable sensation of life in a dying field
As if remembering the smell of your blossoms is the only thing keeping me alive