A pillow of silence, pressed over me,

And the shadows, violet and black lace trees.

Rushing past me, against a glowing twilight sky.

Ghostly white lines pass below, and my eyes follow them.

Back, and forth.

Back, and forth.

Back, and forth.


The red lights gleam before us.

Will they be dreams?

Or nightmares?

Or perhaps a pattern of letters,

a web of words,

spilling like milk onto these pages,

like the black ink rolling from my pen.

Smoke rises up ahead, billowing from a tall tower,

He and his brothers breathing white clouds

into the night.

*I wrote this in the car with my friends when we were driving up to Melbourne for the weekend this summer.

Best enjoyed listening to video track of the same name* :-)

Lying awake in the darkness

of a memory.

Surrounded by people

In an empty room.

A scream recieved

Only by blank stares,

from the past.

Alone yet surrounded

In a reckless solitude

There is something priceless
In the smile of that angel
In the depth of her eyes
In the smallest gesture of the hand.

They call it hope
They fall and die for it everytime.

On the darkest of moments
From the flames of despair
She looks in our eyes
She holds us in her arms.

We call it hope
We follow it in the darkness.

Open skies, cross stars
Open wings, a last flight
A dream,
And in between, she just smiles

She is hope
She is warm, she is distant
She flies…

I reach out to touch you
As she vanishes in the night
I look around, feathers to fly
I grab your hand and close my eyes

I call her hope

Her light shines for me and in me…

In your eyes
In the smallest gesture of your hand
In your smile. 

With my hopes ...

Lost within
the silence of thought,
apathy takes control;
emotions, dreams, desires gone;
replaced by nothing.

Images fleeing like the rays
of the sun when dusk comes,
when the skies are bruised and velvet dark
with night's arrival.

Freedom for
an imprisoned mind,
and all that’s
sacrificed are my emotions, dreams, desires;
my humanity.

Lost within
the silence of thought,
I place but a single wish
as I sing along to
a forgotten song.

Freedom ...

It can't be defined
only experienced, sought
after, dreamed about ...

*I used to believe that butterflies wings were a rare beautiful gift, just like you.

But then you showed me that there are many others like you out there.

And so I stopped believing* ...

When the darkness
is no longer enough for you,
you will know it is time.

I wonder will you come find me then
and let me lay my hands
upon the ground
beneath you
and search for my warmth
and the words we both knew
were bound to slip away
because they felt too late.

I never spoke your language
although we have the same walk
and the color of your eyes
was my childhood.
I could not dream like you
or see how your hands
made things innocent
because I slipped
through a world darkly
when you were not looking
and you did not call me home.

You were my distance
and small words became safer
but you never knew
how I ached
to take three steps forward
every time you went backward
and how the world
crushed too silent
when you looked over your shoulder,

and found me gone...

She is finely wired
and defined.
she likes opposites
and nuances in her life
but too much of a good thing
worries her
and she cannot read in the dark
without wishing.

She was somewhere else
and that her parents
had never met
or that autumn
would not keep her waiting.

Men cannot speak
when they first see her
pass a window
and they adore
how she refuses
to ride on trains
or eat oranges
without having her best shoes on.
she likes their compliments
and how the morning
smells like brown paper
after it rains
and the steam
that crinkles out of paper cups
full of coffee.

But she doesn't smile,
because she is afraid
that once she starts
she will not be able to stop
and her mother once told her
the shape of frown
is better suited
to her complexion
and makes her
hang beautiful
in the evening.

Where you forget to put her away.