I am afraid of the there to here.
Of the from there to here
The many steps between that I would have to journey
over again
and again.
If I could find my way here the way I have, I would travel
there again
and again.
If I knew I could return, and return me, as before.
Still, I might go to there for you.
I’ve got a ticket in my pocket and it’s whispering my name.
I've got a ticket for the train – hear it whistling miles away.
Miles away, miles away, my mind’s caught it all the same.
I'm waiting for you to make me want to dance.
Remind my heart what it's like to be held
Out in front of everyone, romanced.
Lead me in your arms, and I'll be lead.
Song after song, and band after band,
Day after day, still piercing me with that glance.
And when fight after fight you're still holding my hand,
Put your arm 'round my waste, remind me why I love to dance.
I'll be your anchor to the sound
Hold me here in time,
And remind me how it is to be found
Yes, I'll hide and you tell me what you find.
Don't worry about old towns,
Cities, miles, counting dimes.
When your mind starts to race around,
Close your eyes and just call out "mine"
You'll hear "found" somewhere near the Sound.
There's a secret to this heart that breaks and melts and ebbs away.
But you won't find those written here.
You'll find them, if anywhere they stain, written where I lay
My pen, dripping out my mysteries
In the sanctum for this writer's dreams.
There, perhaps my pen drips its own streams
Of thought, bleading my quiet story on reams.
Open your eyes and make you see that what you see
And what you feed your eyes are leading you down empty streets,
Candle lit alley ways and avenues of make-believe.
That make you feel you feel your feet,
Seem alive and full of daring dreams.
But it's just a stream-lined,
Picture, perfect, emotion-driven alibi
With colorful pictures as street signs,
Tumbling you deeper down the rabbit hole,
Another adventure you've stole.
You're still painting by numbers
Tea parties, trends and tumblrs.
Move one: Blue dress and blonde hair,
Chasing another girl's hare (rather, rabbit)
Down an endless set of notes as stairs.
Why don't you just stop, and eat the biscuit?
Grow up, stop looking at gardens through key holes,
Read the book, not just the quote.
And answer the real question that he posed,
Who are you? And when did you forget your role?
You were meant to be an original.
But on your adventures in Tumblrland, you forgot.
Fear not, creativity can still be found if sought.
Stop painting all the roses red, and learn how a rose is wrought.
I'd tattoo the melody of you, leave it like the print,
Inked on my skin, as it's pressed on my heart.
If only I could draw the melody that's you.
Blue, like his eyes, hers, yours.
Deeper than honey, darker than our roots.
Old enough to rust.
Tinted old wooden, chesnut floors
Bolder than oceans, brighter than pursuit.
Hughes I've come to trust.
What happens to the child that falls again, again?
Who tried to walk, but broke herself upon the floor.
Who sought to stand, and when standing found a plan.
Why, she'd carry herself right up to the door.
What happens to that child when she falls again, again?
Why, I suppose she stands. 
The heart can do funny things, like mirrors round a vase
Make you hate the ones you love, or love the one you hate.
When held, feel suffocated and wish for only space,
And when space you find, you wish it had a face.
We often think we're ready to let go,
Ready to surrender and trust our greatest burdens
To the One who says, "I know."
Until we see Him carry off the load
And then we know that burden was our treasure,
As it's disappearing down the road.
It's then our heart starts to race after,
But He stops, and says, "No.
Tell your heart to be still, do not follow.
Wait for me here, I'll look for you low."
Stop trying to die, and live.
Stop wondering why you feel so dull,
And lacking what you want to give
Stop waiting to eat until you feel full.
Come alive, and live.
It's then you'll grow bold,
And find you can't but love and love, give,
Give all, and all, and ah, there life unfolds.
Most say Promise is held by the dawn and no doubt he is, but I’ve always found him at dusk, waiting. He and hope embracing and waiting. Something about finding him, after he’s weathered the storm, weathered the day, weathered the… weather, makes me want to trust him. Makes me believe that he’ll be there tomorrow. Yes, Promise will be there in the morning, and he’ll be true, because tonight he’s here, in the dusk of the day, holding hope and waiting. Perhaps, waiting for me to hold him too or let him hold me. Perhaps waiting, just so I don’t have to wait alone. And so we do, he and I and hope, we wait.
I can't travel without you, for this thing I call longing
to explore, wander chase furies 'cross the oceans,
Is nothing but the ache in my heart that misses belonging.
It's me missing you, a quiet heart's steady motion.
I long to travel, I long to be that place away
That place away with you, where your heart's travelling too. 
A broken bowl to be poured out,
But nothing remains in this empty heart
Except a meal of doubt.
And doubt sounds big to the hearer,
But even after you've taken your part
You find hunger all the nearer.
Still, a bowl, though broken and reckless,
To the maker remains a work of art,
If only it is filled by something priceless
So this reckless heart is waiting for a river.
And though broken, once waters start
I'll say, "Fill me up, I'm the artwork of the Giver."
I'm just like all the rest,
who like to tease the alphabet
when faced with inner distress.
Playing with words in my head
Then wondering at the typeset,
What have I even just said?
I love to compose in my head. I'll compose you anything, as long as it's true.
Oh yes, I can compose anything true, except me, when I'm with you.
