Time had stopped, it was amazing
The stars had been smiling, the night, I first held your hand
The world met your eyes, it was brazing
The scars had been healing, the ones, I didn’t quite understand
Spring laid ahead, as I held you tight
And you cried, the first time, though I didn’t feel your pain
Your hand reached out, and it felt just right
As I found myself, lost in your eyes, all over again
I remember our songs, and the way we’d sway
And I cried, the first time, though you didn’t feel my pain
The summer felt wrong, your hand taken away
As I tried, my worst chime, and the moments I can’t explain
Now I won’t hold back, and I won’t let go
My hand’ll reach out, till it find yours, and light your way
Until the night’s not black, I’ll burn, just know
And walk the steps, to calm your hand, the day I give you away
And time’ll stop someday, it’ll be just fine
The stars will remind you, that I’ll still burn, to light your way
As my eyes will see a day, and know the sign
Your hand’ll hold mine, till the wise old friend, slips it away
He's standing on the edge, overlooking the sea.
Demons narrating his reality, not where he'd thought to be.
He was bright at dawn, ran when meant to crawl.
But he'd hope to walk on water, and that's when he'd sprawl.
He was blunt as his years, and sharp as his words.
While he admired a lion's pride, a fox won't graze in herds.
His heart had lost, bled, to what laid ahead.
The voices that want him to fly. Or whispers, that want him dead.
He'd set the truth on fire, rather believed a lie.
When reality isn't the finest, fantasy's a sigh.
He'd clinched his fists, upped his chin, and picked up his pen.
He'd worked hard to break it, and stand among the wise men.
Be twice as hard to maintain it, and survive the battle-ground.
For sometimes there's more knowledge in silence, than wisdom in a sound.
He's standing on the edge, overlooking the sea.
Demons might win tomorrow, but today he's got places to be.
They made me an oak of old, deep-rooted, stern, and strong.
To bear the weight of others' grief, and carry it all along.
To stand when all around me fell, unshaken by the gale.
To be the hand that others grasped, when all their courage would fail.
And so I stood through every storm, though bent by wind and years.
While none did see the flood that rose, beneath my skin of tears.
For men are loved for what they bear, not for what they endure.
A beast of burden had more worth, than hearts that cannot cure.
At three of night, when darkness walked, and sorrow crossed a door.
They knew precisely where to turn, and I was there once more.
I answered every desperate call, I soothed each wounded soul.
While mine lay starving in the dark, a beggar in a hole.
Yet when my own world came undone, when grief consumed my breath.
No light glimmered through the night, no saviour came from death.
No voice cried out, "Are you alright?”, no hand knocked at my gate.
Only silence sat beside me there, and kept me company late.
I've heard it said, in gentler days, "All storms must spend their rain."
What strange and blessed souls are these, who have lived through my pain?
The storm is no passing thing, the tempest walks with me.
For mine had never spent itself, nor journeyed out to sea.
It sleeps within my ribcage bones, it wakes behind grim eyes.
It follows where my footsteps fall, a shadow in disguise.
The rain does never cease to fall, the thunder never dies,
I merely learned to wear a smile, when grey become the skies.
And every tale of wisdom told, had soured upon my tongue.
"What does not kill shall make you strong." But my wounds remain too young.
Some blows although make stronger men, they simply make me cold.
And leave great caverns in my heart, that deepen as I grow old.
"All things occur for some grand cause." What comfort does that bring?
When innocent hearts are torn apart, by life's indifferent sting.
I watched, after quarrels fierce, how swiftly aid would ride.
World gathered round her weeping face, and stood there by her side.
They asked if she was safe and sound, if she had come to harm.
While I stared at noose that hung so tall, and no voice raised alarm.
No soul enquired if I still breathed, or if my mind was whole.
Or if beneath my quiet face, there lay dead a cheerful soul.
The truth of wrong was never weighed, nor measured with fair or fury.
For tears upon a woman's cheek, are witness, judge, and jury.
Yet blood upon a man's own hands, though drawn from wounds he bore.
Is merely proof he should have stood, and suffered something more.
And when I fell, as all men do, the counsel was the same.
“This too shall pass”As though they came, to help me from my shame.
But none arrived. Not once. Not twice. Not any year before.
So every pit I climbed from out, I climbed by my own sore.
With broken nails and weary limbs, with hope worn thin as thread.
I dragged myself through mud and dark, to earn my only bread.
Thus I became my own priest, my own physician too.
My own confessor in the night, the watch of my own curfew.
So I kept my garden hidden away, beyond all mortal sight.
And tend it in the lonely hours, that border day and night.
No visitor cared to praise its blooms, no stranger knows its name.
Yet still I kneel among the weeds, and labour all the same.
And when no water can be found, nor strength remains to save.
I feed the roots with bitter tears, and watch them misbehave.
For grief is faithful where men fail, it never strays afar.
I know of heart, every road I bled, and every hidden scar.
They say the world's a theatre, And we all but merely players.
If so, then I have worn one mask, for many a hopeless years.
I smile for kin. I smile for friends. I smile for those I meet.
I smile until the face I wear, feels truer than beneath.
Yet still I rise with every dawn, though dawn brings little grace.
The world still needs its steadfast oak, whatever its disgrace.
And so I stand, and so I bend, and so I bear the load.
While losing little piece by piece, the man who wields the sword.
And when at last death's quiet hand, comes tapping at my door.
I think there shall be little left, of who I was once before.
No grand lament, no righteous end, no settling of the score.
Only a man who gave himself, until he was no more.
And should there be a grave for me, beneath some lonely nave.
Should there be a day to mourn, for all that I once gave
The cruellest truth shall follow still, for even then, I fear.
No soul would be present there, than I myself, my dear.
For all my life I've carried blooms, to every heart I’ve known.
Still I shall have to be the one, to bring flowers to my own stone.
On my own two feet, I’d walked one day
My mother’s hand, was what led the way
Stumbling on the road, I’d skin my knee
But I’d walk on, the man I wanted to be
Though the wicked years, would knock me down
I’d get up and walk, to earn my crown
It’s true I learned, to lean on some souls
Who’d help me walk, around the potholes
And yet as I fell, I still reached out
But a soul I didn’t have, there was no doubt
Now on my knees, I fear defeat
For I must now learn, to walk on broken feet
He saw himself in her, a path he’d abstain
He carried on for her, struggles he couldn’t explain
Vowed to stand by her, and bear the rain
For his faith to break, his tears spent in vain
His thoughts they shatter, the delusions they slain
When a good man feels the pain
You know when he breaks, yet his wins no one sees
He does not amaze, with his victories.
But he does surprise, when he survives,
The defeats he comes out of alive.
Your suffering starts, his sorrows drowned
When a good man stands his ground.
The light he’d burn, for the path that’s lost
The battle he’d win, for the child that’s cost
The heart that’d break, for the devils he’d accost
The hell that’d fear, the winter’s frost
As his wrath burns, the heavens above
When a good man fights for love
The battle’s a miss, yet his heart still roars.
The pain is his, yet the wounds are yours.
But the time will come, and settle the score
His demons will darken, your night once more.
The Gods, they’ll fear, your fate from afar
When a good man goes to war.
On my darkest days
When I’m miles aways
When my wings would bend
As the days would end
On the paths I’m lost
When the road’s a ghost
When I’m left alone
And the end’s unknown
On the dandelion’s wings
A hummingbird sings
As I hear the call
And remember my fall
As the night comes
And my heart hums
For what it had cost
For what I had lost
But I won’t fall
Nor I would cease
A dandelion will grow tall
Come stones or trees
As the night would turn
And silence would hear
My thoughts, as they burn
My loudest fear
I’ll spread my wings
As the hummingbird sings
And will answer the call
Stones or trees, I’d grow tall
And join the wind
To take on the sky
To find your wings
And together, we’d fly
We’ll shape our paths
And forge our ways
We’ll hold our hands
And find our gaze
And on our darkest days,
When we are miles away,
We won’t fret, the skies we’d roam
One day, we’ll find our way home