Friday, 5 December 1997

גַּלִית

1997

Can it really be that you
are so in love with me?
Or is your heart desiring just
to feel that your are free?

A tethered heart may well endure
a lifetimes fears and woes
but every binding has it's end
that's simply how it goes.

And as we grow in years and tears
for all that might yet come
what we will do will be for good
or bad but not undone.

My love for you is clear and true
i know the way i feel
but haunting is my fear for what
of yours i might just steal.

Undying love is hard to find
and harder yet to see
and finding all we want in life
just sometimes can not be.

But i will set my path ahead
and with your path unite
for deep inside i feel that soon
our lives will be more bright.

So love me true my little wave
and love me strong and free
for what will come will be our own
and what will be will be.




How shall I prove my Love?

1997

How shall i prove my love for you
might simple verses do?
Or shall i shower you with gifts
to prove my love is true?
Shall countless prayers on your behalf
procure your endless love
or flowing streams of priceless wine
ensure my names above?
i can not guess why i am blessed
to have what you now give
i only hope that it wont end
as long as i might live


Paris Metro

1997

I sit
my universe a cloud about my head like an unseen halo
shrunk
as the universes of those that sit, distant eyed
facing unseen me

i long to shout - i am, i am
but all that comes is fear
and my universe tightens about my self
shrinking away from those who seem
to have had their universes shrunk to less than mine is now

i look for another
who's soul looks out enquiringly as mine
for there are many eyes that surely echo more
than simple reflections of magazines and papers

there, a glimpse as we sway collected on a bend
but no, the brightness hinted seems obscured
or in well accustomed withdrawal
seeks refuge in a page

will i become as they
my universe withdrawn, within my dustcoat
unseen
unwanted
and unloved?



Paris Poor

1997

a pile of rags centered on the path
the crowd parting to avoid
the out-thrust dirty paper cup
clutched in a barely human hand

i walk past, confused at first
and glancing down
within can see a few lonely coppers
and then i'm past and free

what face hides shamed within these rags
a mother, worn and haggard?
cast out from some undone home
once built upon others older sins?

i feel the coins in my pocket now
like lead
and lead my heart is too
i turn and rushing guilty back
drop another nothing
and leave

a voice, thin and muffled
as from a tomb maybe
offers humble thanks
for what i see as nothing more
than a price to escape my own guilt

for if i have not made this world
who has?