Day break

You know that feeling?
You know when you wake up, not by the first rays of the sun, not by the chirping of an alarm, but just by the solid heat. The heat of the midday sun finally filling the enclosed and before now, protected space of your room. You open your eyes, either before or after, throwing off your covers, and realize that the day is as good as wasted. You predict many hours before your present enough in the present to leave your "home" and ponder if it is worth the effort to ever leave at all.

And now think of that moment,
I don't know where you will have to look to find it. And I hope with all the hope i have to muster that you have experienced it.
That moment, when you look out to the horizon, you see the faintest pink, so pink you cannot separate it from the deep blue on the other edge of the sky. The crisp air running up your nostrils, carrying the cool morning mist into your lungs.
You think about the day ahead of you and count the hours.
The imagine all the things your could fill them with.
And then you start. You starting filling them.

You.
When I met you.
I remember seeing in your eyes.
The reflection of that day break.
And today, when i looked into your eyes.
It's like that day never broke. Like that sun never rose.
Ever since I met you, you have been filling the hours with passion and energy that can only come in the presence of such a sun rise.
Your life, lived with the hope of one who has seen that pink sky.
And has understood the potential of the unknown.
You have beautiful eyes.

Bird of a feather

eighteen feathers of a different shade
spread across two wings in order they were laid
erupting from the leaves, in the open to be seen
leaving the branches, where they had always been.

they were more in love

They were more in love than anyone realized.
Luckily for them their love did not require the realization of anyone.
The had to think in a particularly round about way to feel how they felt.
But boy oh boy did they feel it.
A love complimentary to life and living. Whatever formed they may take on.
Beyond the acceptance of most.
Belittled by many.
to be judged by none.
Not even them selves.
love will never be lost.
for life cannot be lived in it's absence.

Is it dark in here or are you just running around with your eyes closed?

And now the power has gone out and we can't find any of the exits and were wandering around in the dark in this room called love.
So what do we do?
What now?
The more we understood the less we could see till the morning we woke up to a setting sun, your side of the bed was still warm while mine had never heated up. Every now and again... and again we down the drink and up the bubbles and we think we can see again, but our sight fades into realization that what we are seeing is a figment of their imagination and has nothing to do with us.
To empty faces dancing their dance and waiting for us to fill them but we wont. We can't. We know better... or so we think... but if we can't trust what we think than what whiteness does our trust in them come from?
By now we have stopped searching for exits and have found only each-other and after several excellent decisions we can see like we own the sun and have no need to run... and no need of clothes for that matter.
And their searching to tell us how we've done it wrong but they can't see us in dark. And we keep our heads low so as not to be heard, and two become one and create a small bird.
And the bird will grow down into it's nest until it realizes it has been hanging onto a metaphor. A metaphorical question before a hypothetical answer to the why and reason that season after season we've yet to hit a spring and are still hanging onto what's been.