Copyright 1999 - 2002 Bob Persons

The Passion

The flowers of summer remember the snows in the spring.
The void in my heart is as black as the night can bring.
The flower is dying, that once we planted and weaned.
And schemes are all dead in the vacuum, for once we dreamed.

I wish I could kiss again your soft lips and shed my tears in your eyes.
Cause, Babe, I'm dying and there's no use in trying to tell meaningless lies.
The mountain of ocean between us is killing the truth.
And every connection - crule vivisection! - is broken and dead in its youth.

You once whispered to me the thought dreams you carried inside.
Do you still dream, Babe, in colorful schemes, Babe, or perhaps they too have died.
Are you running from boredom that you really make for yourself?
Will the song of your island soon become silent from disuse, like everything else?

The impossible dreams I kept for you are flaming my heart and I yearn.
But all I can do is remember you and let it burn.
And now that my words have scraped off the scum from the top of what I really mean,
The passion now stands, with unfolded hands, expressible only in dreams.


- Lone Coyote Calls

 


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