The fragrance of you
In my mind inescapable.
The wind carries you to me,
Lavenders in the breeze.
In an instant transported
Back against your chest
Arms wrapped around
The last time I truly felt
Contentment in who I am.
Left alone, no more lavender,
The dark doubts creep in
Whispering their words once more
You should not be.
But I am.
And I will continue to be
Because one day, once again,
The wind will bring you
Back to me.
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Together, you and me
I can still remember
The first day
I ever saw you
Standing there so
Self-assured
I filled with such doubt
Of who I was
And could yet be
But you always knew
Always could see
That part of me
I could never set free
Until the first day
I ever saw you
Standing there so
Self-assured
I was filled with such awe
Of who you were
And what we could yet be.
Together, you and me.
Unmoored
Such Envy, I have.
For those with no doubt.
For whom life’s plan is clear.
A destination, clearly, seen at the end.
For those who walk on level ground,
Stable ground with no pitfalls or detours.
Such Envy, I have.
For those with no questions.
For whom land is their constant companion.
A horizon of luscious land, no sea within sight.
For those who never experience the terror of being
battered to-and-fro, alone, in a storm.
bare limbs against the wind
bare limbs against the wind
standing tall and firm like your gonna win.
dark and looming, the sky overhead
Fighting off the feelin’ you’re better off dead.
As rain begins to fall like tears to wet your skin
what you thought once gone, that old familiar pain appears again.
Finally the sky clears – bright and shiny,
But you’re still left feelin’ tiny,
cause buzzing around like a tease is a buzzy lil’ bee,
while you – trapped by your Roots – are busy longing to be free.
Lifelong Joy
There’s something comforting in the smell
of old books.
A cacophony of life surrounding,
and Yet
In one small breath, an upturned
book on one’s lap,
an instant transportation to a
New and wondrous land.
Alone or with companions, always
a grand adventure to be had.
In Celebrations, great and small,
equal joys to be found
in all the infinite tragedies.
There’s no story that could be told
unworthy of such a worship
found in the simple pleasure
of a quiet day.
akervand 