Tuesday, March 17, 2015

one day i'm sure of it

you are
the side of the scale that always tips in my favor
by one
balancing the chaos of my words run wild
promised not to rest
until you'd hunted each of them
their blood drips from your kill shot
by drop
like brush strokes
without criteria
till all of a sudden
there was space for what i lacked inside the picture you were painting

i'll speak freely
if you promise to keep a sharpened spear
i'll tell stories
if you promise to hold my wine glass

and one day,
i'm sure of it
my songs will make rivers flow from your finger tips
just give me time
enough time to learn how to make rivers flow from finger tips -
most folks seem to get their words right the first time
i always wondered what that would be like - 
so please be patient
my words are mazes
but they do not
all lead to dead ends
there is a finish line
one day
i'm sure of it

until then and ever after
my hopes are yours only for the taking
make them your mast
and my promises your keel
set sail my dear
we are out there somewhere
and i am confident the well inside your desert holds my reflection,
so said the little prince,
"what makes the desert beautiful
is that somewhere it hides a well."

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