Until Morning
until morning then,when the lives of our previous night have run away
with the shadows beneath our fallen trees.
what's it like to be cruel,
to twist with strangeness and stars, and to bring
down the sky with moans,
butterflies on a biting wind?
what's it like to shout away the cold?
this february spell leaves my feet encased in snow,
beckons faces out every bottle.
i'm sorry if i reek of smoke and mirrors,
for every cigarette another storm cloud rained.
what's it like to sing with tears,
these things i don't understand, love
was a cup i filled until the morning sun
drew an empty bucket drained.
for every lie another star fell,
what's it like to live? these nights
pass with starless stain;
the leaves move before us like butterflies
sick of motion, swaying as if a kite
made of stone floating down a hurricane.
what's it like to die,
the dream in my hand still feels warm,
and echo, a voice in the night.
what's it like to be alone?
Poetry by Charlie fan
Read 730 times
Written on 2006-03-14 at 18:14
Tags Separation Love
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