ventured into untamed wilderness,
wandered the land our indigenous cousins once freely roamed.
crossed rivers and meandered through mountains, lost until it felt like home.
called your name aloud, but the trees didn’t know you,
wrote a little song, but the birds refused to sing.
naïve versions of you and me danced through the dark woods,
and then I watched as the rivers took us whole and washed us out to sea.
after years spent roaming gardens, galleries, dive bars and billards halls,
a thousand cigarettes and secrets spilled in alleyways between us,
telling me exactly how much the world owes you,
recounting everything you’ve done to deserve what you have,
confessing your darkest sins,
proclaiming your innocence,
raving about your talents, hopes, dreams – disappointments.
I was your shoulder,
your brother, your blackhole.
You were my Brutus.
This isn’t the first time and it wouldn’t have been the last,
This isn’t the first time and what a drain to have to put your pieces back together again,
This isn’t the first time, but the difference is,
I’m wrapped in soul-encompassing love now,
so for all I care, you and the rest of your world can go straight to hell.
Wide open spaces, a thing I’d never known before,
Held court in cafés and nightclubs.
Took lovers in backseats in darkened alleyways,
And in tiny rooms, crammed full of books and secrets, and one too many half-smoked packs of cigarettes.
Now I have half the second floor to rattle around in and my soul love to keep warm at night,
Still I crave more wide open spaces.
Endless wilderness and deserts stretching far beyond the eye can see,
And the sea rushing in to mingle with sand beneath our feet.
I’ve swallowed ashes and spit blood for this,
(I let their words define me, let
fear guide each step, let the past haunt and the future consume my every thought),
I’ve died and been reborn for this.
Wide open spaces,
To grow up and grow old with you in.
Sometimes looking back
you get livid with yourself
for being angry/pathetic/vulnerable when you shouldn’t have been
the permanence of the past rapping at the chamber door to your soul
find solace in the fact that while the past is permanent
the past has passed
sea meets mountains
birds swirl about for morning meals
the sky hangs sweet, mellow
and I am lying on a cliff
enveloped in your love