where things stand in relationship to one another can result in different structures, meaning changed, and all from simple turning. we think we're things; but we are not. we're systems, networks, mysteries of flesh and neuron, quark and fire, ever still, but always burning
on the other end of the spectrum are the things so beautiful that we cannot recall them anymore; we cast them out of memory. the anti-traumas, one might say: the days so perfect, times so sweet, we can't admit them into mind as though 'joy' brings with it, defeat
Why am I not enough? she thinks, But answers never seem to come; Where is the girl I used to be? It's hard to feel within the numb -- But those of you who understand, Will know how hollow is the trite Advice of those who've never felt How cold is space, How dark The night
it isn't the voice of sometime spring
that leads the heart the mind the soul
it isn't the birds the warm the wind
that turns the faint young halfling whole
it wasn't the words of comfort said
or the angry ones that ripped the night
it's the season that she keeps inside
that makes the wrangling april right
okay, i understand she said full saying she did not at all and i was left to riddle out just what had led to my great fall for what i ought to know, i don't and what i should have seen, i missed -- okay, i understand she said to someone who now won't exist
she stands out in the sullen sun inside herself within and tells her dreams this is their day and begins to begin there's no one else to notice this no audience no date she brought the sun inside so she could finally radiate
You felt a girl born out of time, Your era bygone, long ago -- But classic is as classic does And I know you know that I know That your time's yet, and now, and then: Yours is an era not yet through -- You felt a girl born out of time, But time stands still when you're Just you
sometimes, in joy and thoughtfulness, the moments stop, and I can see the friend I first met years ago, and it all comes back, instantly: the path you walked, that weary way of years unloved and time misspent: and I think, oh, my love, please know -- you're safe here, and -- you're innocent
he says don't go and so she stays; why her, she doesn't understand -- as day turns night and night turns day, the spent much stronger than the planned -- his listless boredom in time drowned, she plays her part as he directs: a checker, never to be crowned, who loves, and never once suspects
