People are prosaic:
Longer than can be perfected,
Ever shorter than can cover all.
Lifetimes spent in their pursuit
Are lifetimes spent in chasing’s thrall.
The world has little need
And even less of patience
For one who cannot heed
Life’s simplest commandments
Like not to envy what you haven’t got
Or let desire turn to greed
Or if your tears can’t be fought
To only cry where no one sees
Yes the world has little patience
And yet some we all must cede
If we’re not here for each other
What are we but a weed?
I have to watch the road and look away
I know what it says if I choose to stay
Desperation suits all people ill
But damn if I’m not desperate still
I like to fancy that I know you well
The danger does not harm the sell
I feel less alone when I’m with you
And I wonder if you aren’t lonely too
Ah, the holes we like to dig
I know you’re a wolf with a sheepish wig
But I still wonder if in your wolfish heart
All you really are is torn apart.
There’s a thousand reasons I don’t love you
Yet you’re still here within my mind
And there’s so many men above you
Who are so beautiful and kind
Yet I know I don’t deserve them
So I wonder if I deserve you
Because I know the game you’re playing
And darling, it takes two.
A changeling raised up by a sphinx
Shared a love for artful words
And both in tongues did love to speak
Until they met the firebird.
The firebird was fond of flame
And saw revelation as a burning need
And so to see and hear this pair at play
He felt at once they must be freed.
They asked riddles at his approach
But these he never heard
He began to try and try to coach
Soon becoming quite the jabber bird.
It became such that two might not speak
And yet still the room was filled
With conversation fit for three
But no revelation ever spilled.
The riddlers only whispered now
And what riddles did they tell
For the answers, to each other known,
Did not paint the firebird quite well.
And yet every now and then they’d turn
To whisper their greatest riddle to him
Hoping that if he only an answer found
He might finally understand them.
There’s a face you’re used to seeing
And I’m not sure that it’s mine;
My own is always fleeting
And you don’t catch it quite in time.
You only see what I am showing —
But you never seem to mind,
Or see what I most fear you knowing,
Or what I most wish for you to find.
Instead you shout for a beginning…
But for me the show is always on;
And as the act begins you think you’re winning
But if you looked, you’d find the actor gone.
I wonder all the time
If I might be for you
What I always wanted there for me:
The understanding ear, the equal player;
A soul to brush yours, and paint it green.
To be a ship passing in the night
And the lighthouse that guides yours home;
I wonder all the time
If I might make a better you,
If I could only make you feel you’re not alone.
Tell me how they know
When to leap and when to stay;
Tell me where to go
When everywhere’s a way.
Tell me what you see
When there’s nothing left to say;
Please, just stay with me
When I know I’ve gone astray.
Who can know what lies within
The hidden heart?
A gentle start,
A raucous din;
Beauty, or lies and sin?
But the hidden heart
Does not part
With the secrets of its djinn;
It only tells
With its beating wells
That something lies within.
He sat down beside her, and he told her this tale:
There was once an old man who lived a comfortable life with his family; But he was sad, and often cried. When he thought he was alone, sometimes his family would overhear him say he was cursed.
The family was very worried, and tried very hard to cheer him up. They would say and do all kinds of ridiculous things to try and elicit a smile from him. But still the old man was sad.
Then one day, the old man died. At the funeral, a stranger approached the casket, and began to laugh. The family was angry, and demanded to know why he was laughing. “Because,” he said, “if you had only asked him why he had been crying, then he would have been freed from my curse.”
“So, tell me,” he said quietly. “Why do you cry?”