09/01/06

This day I stand misplace, as she Lost in a world not of my own, No longer as free And soon is night too soon, to befall Is she in thoughts of her own, Of once to be I recall A glass of guinness at hand, to her glass A companied wine if she own, Of us to know will outlast In burden of thoughts, yet to embrace Of sorrows shared with her own, In return to chase… With without words, and I knew Is she to feel in her own, Of words we have so few Do you see what I see? Am you to feel what I feel? Is this to be what couldn’t be? When its too real to be as real I long to belong to be along What’s gone to begone to be gone And I long to be gone to be begone When begone I have gone along to belong And this night, in my mind you remain Yet this night, will we wish for again?