"Tell me; if a tree fell in the forest, with nobody around, and its fall to the ground didn't make a sound - would you panic in fear that you didn't exist or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?"
Adam, Portsmouth, UK
She said -
“Heaven is too far
from where we are.
These feelings are peeled
from my bones - it feels too soon
to wish on that star
that was always too far.
And I think of you
as the man in the moon -
shining pale-bright -
I’d wish that day could be night.
I feel as delicate and soft
as those paper moths
trapped in their silken cocoons.
She said -
“How can I be dissappointed
when tomorrow comes -
how can you feel these things
inside your bones
when my spine becomes a wishbone
and my throat a stairway for these feelings?
Hold me and build me up
like the moon over the fog-drunk sea,
wearing the new dress that the sun just gave her -
ask her to dance before she sobers up.
A stage as sky-blue
as the fist of the play-ground bully -
when things you touch begin to turn gold
hold your wishes close
and press shells to your ear
and pray the sounds will scatter like prayers.
I do not know how to feel
but these wishbones tell me to keep telling
and this moon tells me to keep dancing
and these things inside that nobody can see
tell me to search for
words that can give a helping hand
because this world is more full of weeping
than I’ll ever understand.”
She was the kind of girl
who made hurricanes
in other people’s weathervanes.
A poet - who lied
to make me believe in heaven.
She would break your heart
just to plant seeds in the cracks -
a voice which glowed in the dark.
She would make me cry
for all the right reasons.
She said, “Lover, I’m so dead -
so dead-set on living.
I know that those bones inside
can only do so much forgiving.”
As she looked up
into the night sky
she said -
“I cannot help but think that space,
isn’t all that spaceous.”
And when you remember
that there are more stars in the night’s sky
than grains of sand
in the world -
then you’ll know how we felt
when we were counting each speck,
letting them slip between our fingers
and letting them fall
to a world she was so eager
to fly from.
She said “If I were a star
I’d jump - not fall.” And sometimes,
I think she did. On those days
when the sky seemed a little too cluttered
I retreated to my room, and from this room
I missed you. Books full of pencils
and paint - notes that rustled
like trees. On a calendar you could cross off days
as easily as you could see the moon at noon
on a day when nothing seemed to have gone right.
“Keep looking up for that star who jumped.”
she said with a smile.
has his (holy) ghosts. And like us,
He knew what it felt like to have loved
and lost. Nowadays, she fastens her raincoat
one button at a time,
like a life-jacket - muttering
“Just try to stay afloat.
Must try harder.”
She said that she loved older music -
simply because it was on Vinyl records.
How the needle would pull away
after trying to find the music…
She said that records were too easily broken
for something she loved so much.
She said that they not only sang about the heart
but could break like it too.
She turned to me and asked -
“Do you think angels have hearts
Which do you think is easier to break?
Do you think angels
can rhyme in time
and feel the rain
in their veins
like I can?
I’ll tell you what I think -
I think that I am second-hand smoke
lost in a breeze, I’m deadly and going places.
I am a wooden ship in a glass bottle
where these storms cannot reach me.
I am December looking at the summer
and only seeing the burn.
I am the paint in Mona Lisa’s eye.”
She said “When I saw you
I stopped believing in Jesus
and started believing in you.
At night I scream at the stars
because I know that they are wishing on me,
I scream ‘I can’t make all these dreams come true,
but I can and will always love you.’ “
And placing a hand on my chest, she said -
“I know that angels have hearts and bones,
and I know which is easier to break.
I know the world is full of too many unknowns,
but I feel better knowing that even angels can ache.”