The girl who would be queen
Walks along the shore
The boy who’d be her fool
Leans against her door
And listens to her breathe
The dreamer who was king
Lies in the hospital
The courtesan he loved
Walks down the narrow hall
And wills him to breathe
And I haven’t known you long enough
To count the time in years
But if we keep going as we are
I’ll drown in my own tears
But even Alice could dry her eyes
Take a deep breath and give it
Another try
The poet with the scheming heart
Is often at the bar
The whore who wrote his best work
Was named after a star
And she leaves him room to breathe
The child with the shining eyes
Is swiftly growing old
And the tongue-tied balladeer
Is wishing he was bold
But he can hardly breathe
This one's so new it's still wobbly like a little colt. I think it'll grow into a fine ride someday, though.
I don't know what, or who, it is really about, but just re-reading it and singing it in my head makes me want to put my head in my hands and cry.
I think I'll go to sleep instead.
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1 comment:
I like it! There's something beautiful about it. I can't quite put my finger on it.
breath = life
Also other feelings, connotations, sentiments, simplicities.
Too often, as a writer, I try to nail down exactly what I'm trying to say. I get caught up in pointing it out as specifically as possible.
Life ain't like that sometimes.
Sometimes, when one realizes a particular illumination or epiphany, one knows that something happened, or that something was learned, but one doesn't know exactly what or how.
The feeling is just there.
To be fascinated by the things that one doesn't understand is, I think, fascinating.
The redundancy of the above statement is a happy accident.
Nice work, Jules. Thanks for posting a wobbly little colt.
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