What Could That Be?
What happens to a dreamer
of simple dreams because his
real life is already spent; all that
is left is spare change; time matters
not upon how it was bought,
only that it has passed as we walk,
wanting to be a part of history,
remembered by someone
Every moment, building upon the last
It never ends, remission is a drink
Am I moving too fast, who told me to run
Where should I stop, the day before I crack?
How will I know
unless you ask me what’s wrong;
is that when I will wake up?
I cried watching a movie, it became real
to me; every question asked of me;
how many decisions am I living with?
I could tell you everything I feel
The times I became nervous, except
it should be the time when I wasn’t:
I am not of darkness or despair, it
is only my weakness speaking to you
There is a blue light shining into my eyes
of my own choosing; no words spoken,
only brown eyes tempering what they
could never be to me; I was made only
of what I could never be to you
What could that be?
What is it of me except the only
way I knew how to live
What was it to you except the only
assumption you made of me; I hope
it was wrong as you now know that
it’s not so easy to be your lover