And none of them realize
The effort it takes to get out of bed
To go outside for the day
And face all of my fears
None of them realize
How tiring it can be
To pretend.

1722

Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot—
Her hand was whiter than the *****
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves—
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.

I WOULD be ignorant as the dawn
That has looked down
On that old queen measuring a town
With the pin of a brooch,
Or on the withered men that saw
From their pedantic Babylon
The careless planets in their courses,
The stars fade out where the moon comes.
And took their tablets and did sums;
I would be ignorant as the dawn
That merely stood, rocking the glittering coach
Above the cloudy shoulders of the horses;
I would be -- for no knowledge is worth a straw --
Ignorant and wanton as the dawn.

04.35 am
Bon Iver  is playing quietly
For Emma  is set on repeat
I'm hiding under the covers
Music is my sleeping pill
Tonight my mouth refuse to swallow it
So awake I lay
With the drapes drawn
Hoping to finally get some rest
Bon Iver is playing:
'For all you're lies,
You're still very loveable.'
While I pretend that
For Emma is my song
04.53 am

planetarium drifts across the black
rotation of stars changing position

soft roar, a jet lifts
red light blinks into the distance

unseen southern cross
below the horizon at this hour of evening

cooler air of floating leaves                                                  
satellit­es drift on mapped orbits

tiny connections
govern all in this darkness

major explosion

invented & recorded with the silence of
space junk polluting frontiers

the vacuum of nothingness
                                                
plan­e gone

different land nearing
other meanings ascribed to night
                        
gods & other beings of fiction
trap & trick & bear false influence

dark again in a northern land                                            
planets emerge with their sparkling colours

full moon
ceremony of paper lanterns lifting heavenly

The will I have
is like a fire inside
It'll never go out
until the day I die

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the. mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.