We were born social prodigies
and drifters with a heartache.
I was born one day in winter,
while you were painting our landscape,
and I bend into the wind,
and you twist until the breeze breaks,
and we’re standing at our weakest point.
Hold it there as it’s not quite in focus
with your fingers shaking steady.
The camera fights against light,
and you’re already rushing to get ready.
So we escape into the night and
we escape what we’ve been dreading.
Come to think of it, we never really did.
And we’re holding on to each other like candles in a mine.
But you can’t hear the canaries this far down.
Posted in her musings |
Some things, when lost, stay that way.
Some things, when lost, are eventually found.
Some things, when found, might be just as they were.
Some things, when found, might have changed while absent.
Sometimes candlelight can be enough to find a lost thing. But…
Sometimes it’s hard to know weather or not to keep searching for a lost thing.
Sometimes perhaps the song of a canary could inspire one to keep trying.
But in a place filled with dark, it’s not likely to hear such a tune.
Basically I am clueless. Sounds like you’re kind of stuck on something.
Well… best of luck.