if i could be your angel

i would pick up where the others left off
make sure you were never left adrift
or hanging aloft
and the nice thing is you would never know who it was
if i could be your angel

i would steer you down the sheltered roads
make sure you never lost your sense
of direction
your sense of presence
that grandness i see and you miss out
and you would never know
if i could be your angel

i would hover over you in sleep
make sure you got your measured need
and leave you quiet undisturbed
with only dreams of tender good
and you would never know
if i could be your angel

i know that it's not possible
our world is made of probables
and tangibles
and not much spiritual
but if it all could come to pass
i'd take my chance
accept the task
and anyway you'll never know
if i could be your angel
i would

the love lost

the giving was forgotten
the gotten was forgiven
i had just about
figured it out
when the love was lost

how could i be so unaware
of beauty depth and joy
sincerely offered on this plate
at the table where i sat and ate
every day

but oh the dreams got bigger
than the dreamer could consider
carried off on a cloud
in a sky of forever
when the love was lost

it slipped so slowly and so silently
no wonder i could not percieve it
percieve the change enough
to believe it
again i missed the train
when the love was lost

and sitting here
as the rain drips down my spine
the shirt soaked through to the skin
i thought the tears would save me this
all my crying left me nothing else
but wet as if a cloud had burst inside
and when the love was lost
i'd nothing left but pride

when the love was lost
the hill no longer climbed
became a mountain
for the sun to hide behind

the moth

the flutter and the flashing of light
as the wings move
softer
than a feather
and i could almost hear the air move
with each beat
but so silent was it moving
the moth

with golden eyes
painted on its wings
in dust
by god
oh beauty
save me from your fragile shift

i saw you on the wall
without knowing you'd be there
and thought you were a face
i screamed
the moth
had frightened me
without moving an inch

and knowing if i touch you
the powder of your colour
would transfer to my hands
and impede your flying
i decided not to
i just look

the moth
so light
and yet so in command
as round the light you flit
an open window calls you
to forget desire
and fly free
the flame could kill you
but the evening air
will let you be

carefully

like making lace
go slow so you don't
make a mistake
so you don't turn the thread
and make it twist into a knot
listen to this

a bird was just outside
so softly singing
couldn't barely hear his song
and yet the melody
made my day sing

i want you to tread carefully
i put on this brave front
so i can join in with the fun
but really i am timid
as young deer
when the threat of the hunter
appears

like the slow trickle of melting snow
over the moss strewn rocks
hard boulders covered over
almost with a velvet green
soft yet very slippery

and just below the small cascade
an alpine flower buds
and strains towards whatever
light the canopy of trees allows

i want you to tread carefully
i put on this brave front
to join in with the fun
but underneath is a marshmallow
heart
sweet and like a pillow
left with a dent in the middle

the work we do

sometimes we try too hard
and trying un-does
the tying of the knot
the soldering of the chain
by sheer overwork
we kill the thing
we try to create

sit back and watch it knit itself
into a hat
nature will not leave a thing
undone the way we would
never gets tired
perpetuates itself

the work we do sometimes
negates itself

trying to get it done
before the season
only to find out it will not grow
without it's reason
and the climate to complete itself

i wish that i was smart enough
to sit still instead of moving too much

the work we do sometimes
deletes itself

and maybe i will hope to learn
from what i see in others
and so clearly help them with
so crystal clear it seems outside myself

and yet again i make the same mistake
i yesterday saw in someone else

sometimes the work we do
depletes itself

there may be virtue in doing nothing
watch seeds sow themselves
rejoice in fruitful bounties
not driven by my own small energies
but fuelled by natures great eternity
and sitting still
enjoy the peace & scenery

sometimes the work we do
should stillness be

the starting point

the buds remain unopen
but spring is yet to come
heralded by sheets of rain
and melting snow
the conscious sun
will come out
when it wants

there has to be a starting point
he said to her
she tried to forget about the times
she had started before
and never got very far

the buds begin to open
as the warmth creeps through her bones
forgot to wear the sweater
she left at home
this maybe is the first time
for a long time
since the last time
she has felt this much

there has to be a starting point
he said to her
she listened
drank it in like water
to a thirsty one

the buds left open
as the sun sat high
on the shoulders of the sky
they laughed and left
all caution to the roadside
to enjoy the time
the precious time

there has to be a starting point
he said to her
she jumped in
held her breath
and went under
but remembered

a starting point
does not always
have to lead
to an end