If I told you there was a piece
Of my spirit that still burned
Fires that are burning blue amidst the heat
Between my heart and sight
Searching underneath these
Letters, song lyrics, and books
There’s a story yet to be finished,
A story that was meant to be written
I’ve taken what I’ve been given,
Reaching for something time
Hasn’t yet to grace me with
But here I sit, looking towards
A horizon that comes with a light
A light you said held a hope
One I have yet to come to know
But I believe, in the words you gave me
Whispering something and pushing
My direction towards a narrow road
Is this the way? Have I been blind?
Here there’s a piece of my heart
Waiting to be brought back to life
Still the embers are burning
Dull but waiting for a breath of life
To bring forth a spark
Of something beautiful in time…
If I told you there was a piece
You called to me in ways unseen, the path always before me. But I dared not to open the door even when the voice inside me called for a light within the shadows; in the depths of the waters of where my mind had flowed. How long did I stare up? Sending all my doubts to the skies above? Wishing on stars that could guide me? Putting my trust in time, relative to me. Dear muse of hearts, have you read the news? Have you seen what I’ve written? In small letters on white pieces of paper over and over, throughout the years. From when I first heard of you. To where I found something where it wasn’t supposed to be. Right in front of me. Crashing along the shores of inner thoughts, leaving me to wonder how far I can hold onto a dream. It called to me in ways unknown to me. The path that could be, but I never knew of what the door could open for me. Calling for answers and truth invisible before I dared to hold on to the key. How long have I been waiting within this scene for something more than this? How time still evades me. Dear phantom thief of thoughts, have you read the news? Have you listened to what I’ve been saying? All these songs that have been sung, and battles I’ve yet to have won. I found a piece of paper that you dropped behind you along with your old apartment key, another door and a message “follow me…”
There’s a lingering light
From a shadow
I danced with once before
Forgetting when I last stopped
To look it in the eyes
Left hand at its shoulder,
Hand and hand with the right
When was the last
Time you kissed me
What day was it
That you said goodbye
Didn’t you whisper the words softly
Of a return from a fight
You had to ensure
How long must I step
Forth, back, and side to side
Until the day comes
Where you tilt my face
And make me look
You in the eyes
How long the dance between us
And I just don’t know
How I’ve become
A shadow matching yours
Locked in endless motion
I’ll tell you a tale, a tale of a woman who played with matches and didn’t care if she got burned. Watching flames to pages turn to ashes, lighting up memories once created. Dancing around a blaze, she couldn’t stop believing in the sound of her own heart beating. Seeking answers in the beginning up through revelations. The words she has written no longer hers, given to the world. There’s a place inside her heart that hurts like hell, but she’d never whisper into his ear and tell. Here in this place, she’s been trapped for longer than remembered. Somewhere along the way, when she took the pen to paper, moved her fingers across the keyboard, paper clipped photographs to letters she pinned on the walls of Room 15, she knew of the hope that she was sent to find. One last glance, one more gaze out the window of the 18th floor of this abandoned place. The stories gone down the stairs and out the iron doors. Lighting the match and tossing it across a once dance floor, the ghosts of this place alive and well, haunting her steps over time. She’d never allow herself to really say goodbye as she watched the room burn. A beginning awaiting her if she searched within the map left for her, somewhere just for her.
Somewhere you turned down this path
In stories kept pressed to your chest
You believed in a wish, one to keep
And once you told me,
There are not too many good guys left
You my dear are one of the last
Say the words and I’ll come running
Your visions of being the hero
Have met within dawn’s end
Look to me to pick up the sword
That’s been laid across the table
Pocket watch to tell the time
Compass to guide the morals of a heart
That I am trying to find
Open eyes and a hand that reaches
For truth and light,
Turning towards the ones
Who seek the ones that protect and guide
Darling, all I can do is kiss your cheek
And tell you within a dream
I’ll protect you though the night…
Who you are
Who I’ve been
I’ll use you
As a focal point
So I don’t lose
Sight of what I want
In cars I’ve stared out
At roads long and winding
Wondering if things
Could be the same
How much I give
How much you take
A few plane rides
To the other side
Twice I’ve seen
The very place
The could be
A third time
I won’t hold back
In the belief
Of a love so deep
Across the vast array
Of lights in the distance
That illuminates the path
That’s surrounded by the dark.
Somewhere that’s your view
Along some coastline
I’ve never seen.
Where legends and myths
Surround the people
A place where truth
Was once free.
You look at the road before you
Remembering in memories,
There are maps
To alternate streets.
Turns you could have taken
One hand on the wheel,
The other on the shift
A song where “I haven’t bought you
And I haven’t sold me.”
There’s a place
Overlooking a beautiful scene
Forget the city,
Forget what’s theirs.
You’ve learned you’re everything
That you need.
Just don’t forget
Work. School. Travel. Personal.
I admit I’ve fallen a bit behind in creating the spark that ignites the magic between my fingertips and these computer keys. Time to dust off this keyboard, find messages in the new songs I’m hearing, and reawaken the love I have for some old muses and open my heart to some new ones. Stories I know are still between chipped paint and the walls of old abandoned buildings, it’s time I set them free, starting with room 15.
Through the mountains, on twisting roads,
Of scenic views, and picturesque dreams.
How many before I, have traveled,
And found themselves captured in idle thinking.
The path of a wanderer is one
That twists amongst the lost and found.
In little towns, within the middle of nowhere
House stories some will never tell.
Where the locals hide themselves,
And the traveler is exposed.
How many hands paved the way,
For someone to step forth on a journey.
Standing on the edge, looking over into a neighboring city.
To my right views of unclaimed territory,
To my left where man has touched the earth before me.
And all this time, I wondered if you,
The phantom that haunts me has seen
This landscape, the way I’ve envisioned my dreams.