Shirow Walker

Sing little bird, I knew you first.
Your words so gentle; fell
and settled to cast a shadow
one night upon my window sill.
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I am proud to be a frog, though I know not why.
The green of my skin, so utterly devine;
as to what others say, (to which I am blind)
'You are proud to be a frog, though we do not know why'.
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To that last day, that final hour.
Upon those fleeting seconds,
When words like death to family seem dour
I will say, lay me to rest beneath the bower
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Our love was not more than love
Extraordinary or out of the ordinary
Note worthy or otherwise more
It was forgiving
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Mourn for the child that has gone into the thicket
Tangled and twisted up in its thorns
He is lost but still heard amidst the crows scorning
Go home will he no more
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It matters not
Whether your beautiful
You are
It is your essence that I desire
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For all he is, and once was
He is not now
His face has broken in youths folly
A smile has become it’s crown
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Who will mourn for you but me?
My sorrow is enshrined in your laughter
Eyes that see only things that they wish to see
Words that you spoke without knowing
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Had you but one more winter
Had you not rode out to the plains
Had not the the clock struck the hour
Had not it shattered as a pane
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Bring me down to you
As I see myself, I am too high
Lift my head, cradle my neck
With your lips draw my eyes
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Tick, Tock
Calculating, calculating
Atomic clock
Light wave
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I was there,
when you said you loved me.
And I loved you.
In all that is right and wrong,
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I was sad,
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In a pale blue day.
On a winding road.
Around a dead twisted oak.
Through the freezing snow
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What a strange fellow.
His essence seems to be of wants and needs and dreams and hope.
Selfish at the core, hateful in his ways.
In all a walking contradiction.
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I saw her just once.
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When the day is done,
when all lights have gone and every one is too.
What are we left with?
Ourselves?
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