Friday, May 31, 2013

Waking up

I have nothing in my hands to hand over to you.
These dreams you have - they are already yours.
The songs you know - they are those you have sung.
I would give you a gift, for I love you already
But I have nothing to give you.

I am ashamed at my lack of preparation
For this moment; I knew it was coming
And soon it will be complete, but I was not
I could not, I could never be ready.
Please excuse my faux pas.

Wise words I could share,
Hearkening back to my adolescence
And the day you were born.
But they would be in vain, as you know more than I
And I would say everything wrong if I tried.

I can imagine what you would ask for,
If asking was what one did in times like these:
Endless sunsets, azure skies
And love, more infinite and sparkling
These are the things you deserve.

Like the drummer-boy of old, all I have
Are my songs. And yet even they are inadequate,
I would trip over notes, misinterpret,
Unconsciously choose the one that makes you cry.
Even songs are not enough.

Perhaps the only gift I can give
Is material turning to mist
The life of dreams-coming-true as one awakens
I give a shimmer, a shadow,
Then nothingness.

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