Our Day Will Come.

The nights are sweet, in other rooms and between our beds,

Not a sight familiar, not a permanent chair,

I've washed my hair in several showers,

We've attempted dining at all sorts of tables.

But of course each object melts in comparison,

To my strong image of you.

I made myself sleep this morning, I dreamt and was aware, I woke and refused to give in. Back into the dream, it took me to other worlds, it swept me up and attempted to drift me out to sea, it took sun from any sky and put hate in the voices of others. Oh it threatened me with faces and long gone places, but I slept. And this time, I woke when I wished to have woke.

Yes, as I swung my legs round the bed, I collapsed to the floor on a numb leg, but all the pain of yesterday and the rest of today has been beautifully worth it. Not long, I keep on, not long here again. Only I find it hard to picture my kitchen, my wallpaper, these days. And I've never really been one for 'seeing to believe' in the physical world.

Too awkward to kick back, to uncomfortable to fall asleep on the sofa, I wait with tense bones by the window - not for winter to pass - but for my season to guide me to my next destination. Perhaps make a home, oh can I even?

Am I scarred and unable to settle, is it just the new I seek now, now that I never pitched camp?

Keep the future painted with accents of a past I never had, it would do me well to actually drive on with it all. Is it that I have waited too long, that in the porch of next year, I long to just step in and not wait a second more? Am I angry and impatient, oh patience of 10 years! Patience! What am I now, that I've never known impatience?

Nothing manages to freeze over in the city, I see no glittering webs and dusted hedges?

The leaves do not crunch here, the sludge slipped in with the rubbish just slips -

I have waited so long.

Do not let it just be words! They can be the fuel, they can tie us together, oh they can slip into physicality but if I ever stopped talking just for a day, would I crumble in your eyes?

And yes, how I stop myself, and yes how I hesitate! I disgrace my own wants and knock on my own front door!

I've much to pull through to,

And much that I want to,

It's you in every mirror, in every photograph, in every suit! It's you,

And it will be tomorrow, I can be tomorrow!

So let it be today, dear body, let it!

I've needed all of this,

I've need, fed and swam into!

I remember being told - both in the morn'.

I remember treading carefully through the snow,

Rocks turned over, twigs peered through,

Leaves lining the trail of foot and paw.

I will be joyous again.

Our day will come.

'Write & I...'

"You spent it beside the sea..."
"Can't say as I remember..." She responded, with time. It seemed she was delving as far back as last week, and yet the deep of her eyes forever remained. Not once since arriving had she looked to him when speaking, yes, her eyes had turned upon him if he mentioned any thing of a romantic nature, and any thing of home, but it was only these glances which he had been given. She was 'away', as ever she had been all the years before.
"The scent of the sea would creep through our window each of the mornings", he tried, "The evenings would shimmer against a black ocean, the sands would turn unnoticed and laughter could be heard upon the pier from our garden. It was quite a beautiful time."
"But I cannot smell the sea, not now", she offered, gently, folding her hair behind her ear, of which half of the strands immediately escaped back to the pale of her face.
His hands clasped dryly together, he studied her for a few quiet minutes. Glasses touched in the building, the simmer of quiet conversation around them faded in and out, the occasional rush of a car passing by below audible now and then. A woman laughed quite heartily for a few seconds, and this event was the only thing that seemed to stir the girl sat before him. She had returned to a shell from which he had once extracted her long before.
"There was lightening one of the nights", he almost sighed. "It shook even the oldest of the coastal buildings when the thunder arrived, you had noticed it coming long before I, almost as though you had sensed it's damp in the air. We never heard of any disturbance on the news, in fact, we never really watched the news. We just watched as it rocked the ocean, the poor ocean that had been delving sweetly into the evening horizon. The boats clambered about upon the waves, the gulls took from their perches and disapeared into the coming rain.
You and I, we remained as others walked to the dry, walked from the noise. I remember... the cool of the salty air, the damp at our feet and clash of the rain at our inappropriate shoes..."
"We never spoke", came her voice into his trail. He looked to her, and found that the browns of her eyes were settled upon his cupped hands.
"We rarely did", he responded.
It did not pass between them verbally, it was not heard by others eating nearby, nor did the cars passing below ever know they were up in that window together; They had both known then in that moment, that the sea never spoke, that the sea never cared for their sitting beside it and whistling to the bay, it never felt as she had dipped her feet into the salt every so often.
It had only been them, and because she had left her memories on the shore and never looked back, they were no more, and never to be seen in her mind's eye again.
His hands dropped one another, and with this motion, left in that resturant the hope that she may ever see what their eyes had once seen together. Like a worn book left to the sun, she had faded. Like the rose, she had wilted before him, parts of her gliding to the sand. He had never known more of a love, and she, she had never remembered a day passed.
"It is as though you do not have a face, not in my mind", the easy cool of her voice let, finally sounding as she had once before, if just more careful, "I have not forgotten the words, my dear, they have settled like a white feather on the water. They have lined my heart, bled my veins, that clatter of letters. I see nothing, but I read it all. My mind is only pages, not a camera. I've only the feather, not the shutter, and in word I may still love, as inhuman as it may seem. And I have never before known the love I do!".
The image of her rolled before him, her mouth did speak and sound did once rumble the silhouette of heads about the resturant around them, the lights passing below did ignite her complexion now and then, her eyes did still shine in his mind's eye.
But he never wrote it down.

''Something I cannot, can see me''.

An aged story.


Will I spend my life doing this?
Taking on the old information as if new?

I heard the trees anger last night,
As alll that filled the 4am streets was my own whisper,
Ordinarily.
The rest that filled the silence was suddenly all collapture.
To look above me,
My footsteps ended,
Paused, and slotted into the cobbles.

The damp road an empty stage to the rustling and the breaking above me,
I could almost trace the sound with my eyes,
It moved around as if some thing on all fours ran-a-mock on the tree tops,
Beneath the shielded moon.
I was a build up,
A tension.
And I waited for something to drop,
As I spied a star through the mess of leaves.

Some of autumn, some clinging onto what was left of the weather,
I waited.
Surely a branch would have stopped breaking?
But the sound of ripping bark and clattering leaves progressed,
An orchestra building up,
"Something I cannot, can see me".
Was tonight, my ordinary night, The night?
For all the shredding, the grinding rips,
Nothing fell on the floor.

But I waited, I even stepped into the dark from the lamp's light,
Directly beneath the sound, willing it to test me.
But perhaps I wanted it too much that night,
Or maybe I wasn't truly fearless,
They saw me unfit?
Still I pictured this creature on the tree tops, lining Queen's square,
All that was beneath, such ordinaire,
And are all above such hair tinted creatures?
Drooled and thirst?
I ached my neck back,
Realising the horizon was lightening, for it was apparent.
And all in such short time,
the climax came too little.

Little but what the creature had left,
That was swaying wood out of eye's sight,
And the fluttering leaves that rumbled humbly in disturbance,
As if attacked and reacted,
As a body would to a needle.

All but tonight.

Nothing saved me from my plight,
I was just another colour under midnight's light.

Wake me from this, I wondered,
Pondering on an ending,
Or not seeing beach light again.
As I left the cobbles closer,
I ran thoughts through a bitterly set mind.

Surely, if I cannot sleep as alive,
I shan't sleep when I am dead either?

Commited to a wander that is mood lead,
Waiting to be accepted into eternity?
See, I think they're watching.
I'm waited.
I'm watched.
But I'll go out in daylight today,
It hidden by grey cloud and musk.
And the goers by,
Suits, ties, and nine to five thirty,
Scurry as rats do to the sewers,
To the train stations, to the bus depos.
As I rest weary, moon streaked eyes,
And pace out around them.
A slower, more tuned walk than they, gushes by,
With worries of such,
That I once would have dreamt, yet dreaded having,
As a ten year old wishing amnesia upon my self.

And wishing for all the woes of an ordinaire.
Yet the moment I spend my ordinary walk home,
Claiming and comparing,
To be as ordinary as;
Those who eat ordinarily for a living,
Those who ignore the ache in their side,
Those who pine for those they cannot have,
Those who find those of a similar life,
A tree snaps before me.
And they wonder if I'm truly ready.
As do I.

But you're so far away,
As though it may make sense for my eyes to focus on a letter.
They'll fall through another girl's post,
Addressed to myself, and signed in brief from you.
But I must hear your voice as I read,
I fear I shall forget it before long.

This evening, I leafed through paper work, old cards and scrap books,
Discarding odd pieces and cards from people of the past,
I came across a folded piece of paper,
Written about a boy who went there years ago,
Who I have since forgotten,
Had I lost the paper, I'd have never remembered he had been there,
And that I had waited for him.

I remember Paris, how i found writing from him in the lobby of a hotel.
He asked of my Uncle,
Who I would give the whole of Paris to have back,
And my heart leapt as if a bone in this body did mind his presence.

Dull chords return me to a letter,
And lulled vocals send sparks, like zaps through my bones.
I feel the spaces between them and the holes that run through them,
And they collectively well up in my chest.

When do I tell you I can turn time,
And when do I mention I may collect feature walls
And write on the carpet.
Remember when I left the drawing room door open?

I believe you will write when you have the time,
Until then I will read Murakami, seek a warm corner of the bed,
And wind up spider's webs near my curtain.
I'll put a rail up, I'm nesting without the foetus,
I'm sure this is an illness,
I've poessessed it from longing for the most part of my life.

Must I secretly adore waiting here,
Cleaning the home for his return,
I shall have my hair curled the day!



Any way, lining up the table chairs and shining all the wood,
I find myself remembering,
I left the mail box locked.

I buried it in the sand.

"My my, such whispers, such night...."
A little echo amongst the brambles and spikes of graveyard hedges. His head turned as quickly as his sensitive hearing picked up upon it. Not a movement, and silence regained, as if the voice from his very throat had moved the air around him.

Such necesseties were pondered,
through like-minded fools of age.
Five hundred, moving on six and still they little but grew,
I made such an effort, were such thoughts a daily delay;
To withdraw my feeling from each subtle feeding and take upon madness, a stride.

I gazed into eyes that had long since sunk back,
and I cupped hands around heads of the new borns.
I could see life in each, and the tide did receed on the beach i had only now begun to call home.
There were footsteps on the beach, some were a thousand years old,
I could see them engraved in the gristled sands,
Some more aparent than most.
I realised now, such soles of feet were ones i had become aware,
past lives that I'd known, past spirits imprinted upon my stone,
A whisper in midnight's light's breeze.

I heard his laugh,
And i saw another's eyes.
I touched familiar skin and I winced at usual words.
Regretted a person i was, appreciated change in my ways.
"Look, there it goes" came a strong whisper unseen. "Our lives right ahead of us, i can see it now;
One of us alone on this beach".

Oh but i want to fall in love, be that so bad?
Can i not wish to find a person as a person and want it all the same?
Be that woman,
be that man.
My love will fall within the fascination of that life of some other.
And i know, i seem to know,
that I shall spend the most time with some one I've yet to meet.

Not chance,
Maybe chance will bring him to me,
Let her find me.
My eyes will ache to bitter winter sun,
My skin will pattern brown beneath a summer,
and they will fall upon my lap,
Will shield a glaring ray.

I'm the one who will stop,
I'm the one who won't speak heart until whispered,

And they will be the one who i wasn't ever in love with before.


Find me for whenever,
I'm not sure death plays part,
but if you stumble upon a soulmate,
Dead before your time,
Have you a life beyond that?
I can't wait upon soul and fate,
I wait upon erosion by the sea.
Hearing footsteps of any one who fancies,
stepping in on me.


They'll have no shame, she says,
her hair won't even be straight.
No eyes in sight.
Shame, they'll think.
Faded beauty within the reasons she never gave.

My fingers tasting each gone flesh,
love for someone i never met.
Perhaps the sweetest touch is that,
Just want and tragedy before and after.



"They simply don't understand!" She cries, and drives yet another way.
Distant factories hum their industrial glare,
A reflection upon red horizon.
The motorway fades into dim orange lights and the cars sweep yellow across.
And there i lay upon junctions-by,
Listening to the travellers shoot by.
"Baby won't find me here, nor will the love" hummed to one.
Wondering that money nor image mightn't get you what you need,
but most certainly what you aparently want.

Bore, I, in a jungle tribe?
My want would be of a man in another village,
My goal in life to birth and give plentiful to my family.
Bore, I, perhaps merely here, where i sit tonight,
And were kept,
Then perhaps my skin would remain and my thoughts a one way stream,
No colour upon my nail, nor dent through my flesh.
I'd probably have a child, I'd probably be within University
Single minded yet fearful of life i were taken from.

But no, hail no!
Throw me in the back of this car!
Sit me between the cat box and your lies,
and hide me away for years.
Look into the back seat of a darkening car,
and whisper sweet endearments, so tenderly spoken,
I almost fell prey to gullible,
I beleived you merely forgot my meds.

Would I be this!?
Would i have met him? Does it matter for I'm to fall in love with any one!
So any one does cross my path with a dark glint in his eye!
Lamps facing upwards, my thoughts piercing the sky,
the Church beside, where end up did I,
it's threats to God, so tall and loom, pierce it! Pierce the sky!
So my stars fall into the blackest of nights!
The sound, my voice, a pathetic plea among millions,
for a life of indesiciveness.
A misery if not intoxicated,
A wonder when looking beneath the oceans waves...



And breath.
There i float.
A hole in the ice.

As if swimming off the edge of the earth,
as if swallowed by the very hole said religion did pierce.
Amongst my stars, float. Breathe.

"Darling" He whispers, though never to me, "I was waiting, a while, and my darling... You just can't win".