Is it lonely to stand so tall?
A mountain with nothing, no one else, in its view.
Is it dry to find you have no fear left,
and to know that the length of the universe is nothing but however many steps you take?
Is it terrible to be infinitely alive?
To have nowhere else, no end, no way to die?
how long is it, exactly, to be free?
Tag Archives: poetry
A house I’d like to grow old in
I stopped by that house I’d like to grow old in.
It was old, and a little broken, with an uncompromising sea view—
That day, she had her doors wide open,
with white cotton curtains dreaming in the salty sea-blowing.
All the windows were open,
and, no one seemed to be home (although they were probably just in the back at that precise moment).
The house was calling me in.
But, I knew that I couldn’t do it.
Although this dream-house was real, just six steps away from me,
I felt the river of time flowing in between
I was here,
she was across.
There’s no way but through.
So, I told her I’ll walk in,
but, I’ll be drenched and soaking.
Wait for me.
I want a life that is a secret shore,
that no one else but my Love would know.
I would weep and heal there.
I would love and die there.
I would see the most beautiful sunset and take no picture to show someone or sell somewhere.
I would see the magnificence of water and the sun,
Of the moon and the mount
Of the wolves and the hunt
Of the colours of her crown.
I would see where things begin and end, but tell no one.
Because, to speak of that
would be to crack the perfect cup.