Sythara

I catch a glimpse of us in a stranger’s window, But focus slips away; I let it go Back into reverie, that it may yet survive The turbulence, and let not from me rive That passing care, and searching in headlights Blurred with the fog of my own breath, alights Upon every window, gilded, and framed With holiday bliss, where families named Will sit by the firesides joyously And bask in the glow of a dying tree– Linger in the window, hover just a heart, But promply turn and leave, before the yelling start.  

Around your head Wreaths a halo of mourning, The setting sun doth wake anon, But the voices with which the shadows set Shall never speak again For drowned is he in tears and sorrow Of his beloveds, his wife, his child Only again to be seen in ashes Echoes of gun shots but a memory in his grave And bleeding from wounds There falls to the ground A poppy living where the dead hath felled And there spread its roots Seeds of sorrow sewn Into the breast of every ailing mother Waiting upon their son's return Empty rooms, seats and tables Where happy now-grown men should be, For alas they're lost in battles passed For us to liv

Twin wings sprouted between shoulder blades, I placed you on a pedestal And with a sculptor's hands Carved you from immaculate white marble stone. In my mind you were a masterpiece, In my thoughts you were perfection, The one no one could compare to And brought woe to those who tried But I was wrong. My carving kneels in ruins. And I realize you are not a carving, I'm sorry I ever thought you were so.

Every sunset Every hooded silhouette of an airplane In the gloaming sky Bracing against the vibrant sun And I think of you, Do you still remember me? Every wave Every splash from the bloated Fraser river Into the man-made dike Of living grey stones and purple tinted flowers And I think of you, Silhouetted in the borrowed colours of the sunset I remember you.

Dreams aren't what they're cut out to be They'll wrap you in silk and hold you with teeth Like claws that sharpen each time that they touch And the sweetest embraces are like salt to new cuts They'll taint your vision And fill it with stars Place it close But make you reach far And you'll never quite make it Never quite there Such is the dance of dreamers who dare Try as they might It'll prance out of reach Swift is the dreamer But lither still is the dream.