Sever Summer Day
Listen...
If you listen closely you can hear it
Are you listening?
I can hear the voice, but I can't hear the words anymore.
What do they say to me?
If you know, tell me.
But tell me, what do they say to you?
Here, this is my place; I come here when I am afraid.
The sun was always high, but now it sets
A breeze has always blown, but the winds are picking up
It has always been warm here, but I feel it getting colder
And I used to always hear the voice... now no more than a murmer.
Please, tell me if you hear it too.
Here my heart was always light; why does it weigh me down so?
The sun sinks and as my clothes are whipped about I see my own breath.
Do not leave me, sun! For I am cold.
Speak to me voice, for I am afraid!
And wind, would you be still,
For you bear scents from otherwhere than my safe place.
It is leaving me, though I am still here
(I must remind myself to keep breathing)
Where shall I smell the sweet scent of peace, if not here?
Where shall I go to warm myself when I am cold, if not under this sun?
Where shall I turn for comfort if not to the soft and gentle voice?
Where should I turn to for haven but my own safe place?
But where once there were clear and bright skies
There are now stars and clouds,
And bitter winds blow cold, burying the last words of a hoarse and tired voice.
Come back to me!
I am not gone, I am here!
I am here because here is me; I made it and it is inside me.
I am the sun, the breeze and the voice.
Have I forgotten to listen, to care for myself?
Have I lost my own voice?
Why am I slipping, how do I let go when my grip does not lessen?
Do not forget me, do not sever the summer day!
But I know I am too the stars and the clouds, the night and the moon
I, foul wind howl and cold, seen breath in my own made fields.
And here I am the words unspoken but piercing in silence;
A hideous weapon against the unarmed, the undefended
Those who sought safety and haven; against me.
If only I could still hear it, I could find it!
But you, do you hear it?
You are the sky, after all.
Tell me you hear it; please tell me!
Tell me you hear it and tell me what it says.
And tell me, oh please!
Tell me what it means.
3*17*06
On an entirely unrelated note, it makes me smile (though perhaps only inwardly) when women come into the store, and I help them find a romance novel, and then they proceed to explain to me how it's such a good book and why it's so amazing, like they are hoping I will read it and agree with them. It's one of those things that when I no longer work at a bookstore I will miss.
If you listen closely you can hear it
Are you listening?
I can hear the voice, but I can't hear the words anymore.
What do they say to me?
If you know, tell me.
But tell me, what do they say to you?
Here, this is my place; I come here when I am afraid.
The sun was always high, but now it sets
A breeze has always blown, but the winds are picking up
It has always been warm here, but I feel it getting colder
And I used to always hear the voice... now no more than a murmer.
Please, tell me if you hear it too.
Here my heart was always light; why does it weigh me down so?
The sun sinks and as my clothes are whipped about I see my own breath.
Do not leave me, sun! For I am cold.
Speak to me voice, for I am afraid!
And wind, would you be still,
For you bear scents from otherwhere than my safe place.
It is leaving me, though I am still here
(I must remind myself to keep breathing)
Where shall I smell the sweet scent of peace, if not here?
Where shall I go to warm myself when I am cold, if not under this sun?
Where shall I turn for comfort if not to the soft and gentle voice?
Where should I turn to for haven but my own safe place?
But where once there were clear and bright skies
There are now stars and clouds,
And bitter winds blow cold, burying the last words of a hoarse and tired voice.
Come back to me!
I am not gone, I am here!
I am here because here is me; I made it and it is inside me.
I am the sun, the breeze and the voice.
Have I forgotten to listen, to care for myself?
Have I lost my own voice?
Why am I slipping, how do I let go when my grip does not lessen?
Do not forget me, do not sever the summer day!
But I know I am too the stars and the clouds, the night and the moon
I, foul wind howl and cold, seen breath in my own made fields.
And here I am the words unspoken but piercing in silence;
A hideous weapon against the unarmed, the undefended
Those who sought safety and haven; against me.
If only I could still hear it, I could find it!
But you, do you hear it?
You are the sky, after all.
Tell me you hear it; please tell me!
Tell me you hear it and tell me what it says.
And tell me, oh please!
Tell me what it means.
3*17*06
On an entirely unrelated note, it makes me smile (though perhaps only inwardly) when women come into the store, and I help them find a romance novel, and then they proceed to explain to me how it's such a good book and why it's so amazing, like they are hoping I will read it and agree with them. It's one of those things that when I no longer work at a bookstore I will miss.