Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Young and Tired

She was 40 she said, but sounded 80.
She cared for her mother and worked.
At times she danced and sang, but only professionally.
Alone she had friends
But no one to tell her she was special.
She was pretty as a prairie sky.

It's a cold land, Canada.
So many people alone, afraid to reach out and touch.
The great abyss or leaps of faith.

You can not soar with baggage,
Or make a new tomorrow clinging to the old.

He was sad too, nearly 40,  alone,
Brilliant, successful,
Handsome as a Laurentian hill.

Vancouver is such a hard city.
People go bump in the night and crash.

Let's talk about anything, they say,
But the lies I heard and believed,
That somehow left me feeling I was hopeless,
There was no hope,
And hope was certainly not around the corner.

Pasts splattered with messed good byes.
I'd love to introduce them.
Tell them to spin the bottle yet again
But this time kiss, eyes wide.

Vancouver riots and love so fragile.


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