Symphonic

I want
With the stroke of my pen, to strike you down
With the blink of my eyes, to unsee you

More importantly

I need
With the tools I surely possess, to repair my own heart
With the uncommon grace that is my sinew, to forgive you

Music

My longing drips from every note and I’m quite tired from it

The truth is others dance away while I am fated to sit

The aching seems to fuel the band of devils in this cruel world

What do I sing of hope and love to the woman and the girl?

Migrant

Rest your weary mind
My love
Rest your stricken heart

Permit time
Permit soonness
Permit fondness promised

When seasons change, as they will
When notes become no more
Permit the absence, too