Friday, 15 October 2010

The Writer and The Artist

Tuesday 10th August 2010, A. Palmer

After the storm has died
You can’t look at me nor speak.
Though the thunder may subside,
The rain still wets your cheeks.

There’s an urge to forgive and unite at the lips,
But films tell me not to respond.
So whilst my hands grip my hips,
Yours wipe your lashes black to blonde.

Shall I leave? Sit on the roof?
If I did, I’d want you to follow.
I see you searching for lies in my truth-
When you’re so full of doubt, you’re so hollow.

You shake with your fury; I’m still with mine,
Dreaming of dead days when you were fonder
And expired evenings when we’d lovingly entwine.
In the crackling silence I ponder:

What’s to love about Love and adulation?
All it does is break hearts in half.
And whilst I write our reconciliation,
You paint your “fuck off”.

This has been the worst one yet-
It’s dangerous getting comfortable.
You lose the will to impress and forget
That you’re in graver danger when you’re stable.

But all of this is a waste on a scale far too grand:
The wrong kind of passion dictates us two.
So tell me what to do, tell me where I stand-
Tell me I’m still stood with you.

Almost scared to finish what we’ve started,
We should be revelling in what we’re building,
Not joining forces to get us parted,
Frightened that later a deeper love will sting.

Although storms will brew the art is
To never let lightning strike twice, so let’s try-
Because Ellie’s writer and the artist:
You know that that is you and I.

And we know clouds don’t stay forever,
We know the sun shines through.
So I’ll wish upon the rainbow we uncover
That if I have to survive a storm or two

Then I survive them with you.

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