The Older You Get, the Less You Cry

 

October rain

falling down

your cheeks,

fiery pathways

against freezing

autumn wind.

Rivers colliding

in thousands of

intricate ways

and shapes

like the finest lace

one has ever seen.

That is,

when all dams break

and your heart

shatters into

tiny fragments

once again.

 

 

Still Don’t Know How to Swim

 

The world is strange.

Always different,

always the same.

Like the sea.

 

It is as stunning

as estranged.

You never know

what is lurking

beneath your feet,

down in the deep,

waiting.

Postponing your demise.

 

Deep-set eyes,

sharper than all

knives,

slice you to pieces,

and push you asea.

 

The beast is already there.

Starving.

It has been waiting for you

for ages.

 

Can you pull yourself together,

or was this the very last time

you ever saw the ocean

and your lover’s eyes?

 

 

Spring

 

My love for you

blossoms like spring.

I would put it in a jar for you,

but none would be enough

for all those honeybees,

fresh wildflowers

and cherry trees

of the meadow

inside my heart,

nourished by you;

my one and only Sun.

 

So close yet so far.

 

I am the lake by the mead.

A warm, smooth surface,

from off you can admire

your reflection, and so can I.

 

My love is at the bottom,

a treasure so sacred,

I cherish the most.

 

A love that gave birth

to all the life,

all the nature

you can now see

from up above.

 

Down in the silent darkness,

down, way beneath the surface

of that tiny little lake

is something still too deep

to be known by you.