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By stack Date: 2004 Jul 01 Comment on this Work [[2004.07.01.00.07.31149]] |
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I There has to be a drawing of the lines So the question can be answered: where will we end up? Standing guard over what is mine, I see you dreaming amid your own Across a sea of graves. What defines the borders of our hearts? I ask: Where yours is a picket fence, Mine is razorwire. I can't let you in I can't let anyone see The rough-edged carven ripples, The raw red meat, The sand-smoothed seashells, And the flowers, dried and delicate. I am a warrior, crying for the innocence I've lost I am angry, to hide the fear That rots me from within. II You are a dancer, singing to the stars for the love you've found You are hopeful, to deny despair Any foothold within. Why should our hearts be bordered? you respond "Where yours is a castle wall, Mine is a meditation garden." You are already inside, You see me for who I am, And you have shown me how to sand the carving, Savour the meat, Cherish the shells, And protect the flowers. There need be no lines For there is no question: we will be where we will. Sharing space (and grace), I stand guard over your dreams Across a sea of flowers. |