I’m in a state of panic where nothing seems to change. Pacing my room at night waiting for warm light and I’m scared of the waters now crashing at my shore. And she’ll say; “Wait for calm.”
It’s always the darkest of things that cause the loudest of noises, that clamouring chaos won’t cease for all the diamonds I could mine. Forcing and pushing and pressing their own selfish headlines into print, well, I’ll just sit, be patient, and I’ll wait for the silence one more time.
The ice we’re on couldn’t be any thinner. With hands so cold, so cramped, can’t curve to form a claw. The page we’re on just lacks so much life. Take it, fragile, turn it over; you’ll find there’s nothing there. Write ‘sincerely’ in blood, write ‘sincerely’ in blood.
We’re tongue-tied and tethered. (We’d like to believe) What beats in our hearts, beats in our words.
And she says; “Wait for calm.”
But it’s the times that you’re left alone to find your own way, waiting for waning darkness, waiting for warm light’s hands to bloom… Stay, drift, silent, and in that moment let clarity find you as a long lost lover. “Unearth your hands and be well” she’ll say, her hair ribbon blue. And while small things barely stir the dust to move, darkness like this makes them giants. The darkness makes them giants.
We’re more isolated than we know, Only endless islands off in distant view. Lonelier than ever, we’ll never grow. We’re so alone, floating off in distant view. Take me to the sea, take me to the river, take me far away. We’re so alone, you and I. Oh, giver.