[I]

It feels like years since I was last
Soothed to sleep by that gentle,
Friendly sound outside my window,
The sound of everything out there
Being soaked as I lie, warm and dry,
In my now much appreciated bed.

But time is strange in my world,
And if I think about it I realise
That it's been less than three weeks,
Although it may as well never
Have happened before.

[II]

Sentries either side of my head
Guard what remains of my
Childhood, locked inside the cage
Of an increasingly adult life.

Although I know now that they are
Merely manufactured soft toys,
They still have so much life
About them, and power to make
Me feel even safer as I hide in
My bed from everything outside
That I prefer not to acknowledge.

[III]

Echoes of songs I hope to write
And songs I wish I had written
And songs I will never write
Occasionally seep out of my fingertips
And defy me to remember them.

But they fade, washed away
Like my dreams in the
Unexpectedly returning rain,
Whipped by the wind against
My rapidly disintegrating youth.

So all that remains is a vague sense
Of the knowledge that there was
Something I had to do.

04/21/2003

Posted on 04/21/2003
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince