it takes a lifetime...

I can remember it so well,

the bed of roses where we lay,
the crown of thorns I was so keen to give away.
All the warning signs ignored,
the passion's played.
        
I could foresee what was to come,
I had a sense of what might happen.
The river runs and very rapidly
becomes a torrent, sweeping us
towards our ricochet.
        
It takes a lifetime to unravel all the threads
that have tied us in our webs of tourniquet.
        
I stake no claim on memory.
I stand on ceremonial quicksand.
I look for something with solidity
to hold:
something lasting, something pristine, with no sense of decay.
        
Can you remember how that was?
Can you remember?
        
It takes a lifetime's understanding of the flow
to surrender, let the current sweep you away.
What if I'd told you I would never let you go,
I would hold you every step along the way.
It takes a lifetime to unlearn all that you know
to return the things you borrowed for a day.

Refugees

North was somewhere years ago and cold:
ice locked the people's hearts and made them old.

South was birth to pleasant lands, but dry:
I walked the waters' depths and played my mind.

East was dawn, coming alive in the golden sun:
the winds came gently, several
heads became one
in the summertime, though august people sneered...
we were at peace, and we cheered

We walked along, sometimes hand in hand,
between the thin lines marking sea and sand;
smiling very peacefully,
we began to notice that we could be free,
and we moved together to the West.

West is where all days shall someday end;
where the colours turn from grey to gold,
and you can be with the friends.

And light flakes the golden clouds above:
West is Mike and Susie,
West is where I love.

There we shall spend the final days of our lives...
tell the same old stories: well, at least we tried.
So into the West, smiles on our faces, we'll go;
oh! yes, and our apologies to those
who'll never really know the Way...
 
We're refugees, walking away from the life we've known and loved...
nothing to do nor say, nowhere to stay; now we are alone.
We're refugees, carrying all we own in brown bags, tied up with string...
nothing to think, it doesn't mean a thing, but we'll be happy on our own.

West is Mike and Susie;
West is where I love,
West is refugees' home.