So beautiful the blue sky peeping through the trees,
The tropical sound of birds, the feeling of freedom and of lightness in your life,
Then why is there a cloud that is descending on that scene
Why does it infiltrate my very mind and thoughts?
That want so much to feel the lightness of my heart.
It is the slowness of a loss that is to come,
The day to day gradual infiltration of memories lost,
The memories of shared life and love,
The memories that will not be shared in future times,
Is there a point to keep the strength to carry on?
What inspiration can be found to face the years to come.
It can be found forever in a love that is shared f
Can we be alone when we are not? I think so. We are there, they are there, but we are alone. Can others know the emptiness of loss of love and friendship? When that company is there, but not? Others too are there but not. They have their lives, their families... Do they care, I think so, But perhaps not enough to know the loneliness that is now here, How could they? The despair that one can feel when a loved one is there but not. Those of us who know understand that, We are alone but not.
So beautiful the blue sky peeping through the trees,
The tropical sound of birds, the feeling of freedom and of lightness in your life,
Then why is there a cloud that is descending on that scene
Why does it infiltrate my very mind and thoughts?
That want so much to feel the lightness of my heart.
It is the slowness of a loss that is to come,
The day to day gradual infiltration of memories lost,
The memories of shared life and love,
The memories that will not be shared in future times,
Is there a point to keep the strength to carry on?
What inspiration can be found to face the years to come.
It can be found forever in a love that is shared f
There is a man I know, who used to be a boy,
He never was a child, but he used to be a boy.
The child was never there, the innocence and love,
The feeling of security and a home with family love.
He says there’s something missing that he just cannot seem to find,
Maybe it’s the part of him that should have been a child.
Can he ever feel that part of him, now that he’s a man –
When it never really happened, well I guess he never can.
Maybe he seeks the child in him in another little one,
The little one he knows and loves, the one he calls his son.
Will this be the answer to his endless search?
For something that is mis
He sits on his chair in the corner,
And watches the football alone,
He used to go to the matches,
But now he prefers to stay home.
He lost the strength and the youth,
To face the cold North Wind,
and to stand with the crowd
And support them out loud,
It's got a bit much for him.
The room is full of chatter,
And tinkling cups of tea,
And he lights his cig,
And watches the match
With his cup of tea on his knee.
And he tries to hear the comments,
To listen to what is said,
And he tries to stop the chatter
By saying it's time for bed.
But despite the presence of others
There by his side in the room,
He sits in his chair in the corner
And wat
Leaves flood storm drains and gutters like former lovers retreating to the sea, leaves crowning every street crossing like crinkled blindfolds, former lovers retreating to see themselves as they were, once, eyes closed scattered along the landscape like storms my grandfather died last week appearing nonchalant, leaves in drains supplanting rain retreating to the sea, landscape scattered, storms of barren trees bearing air and isolation but what do trees know of grief, leaves flood sidewalks like strangers who know better than to be out this year, disposable masks scattered along the landscape as the viewing is today storms send pedestrians scrambling inside, shoes scraping against leaves like strangers searching for good news in their own reflections for lack of places to look amateur reporters sorting through the same four stories to share the most palatable the funeral is tomorrow words they can find among the trees, but what do trees know about grief except that more leaves