She’s making films about those lovers
that she’s lost along the way,
and somewhere in the scenes of fiction
she longs to add my name.
It’s clear when we’re down at the sea
I want to be on the ground –
she, sailing to another island,
where new love can be found.
When she writes those letters
her words seem to burn,
leaving no room here for me
to love or to learn.
My toes now in the water,
I feel her slipping from my hand,
standing on the shoreline,
as she swims away from the land.
Theres nothing more now
but a bobbing head in the swell,
and I return to the land that has trapped me
to die alone on the hill.
I have become increasingly short-tempered with life,
but what has caused this anguish and grief?
Is it the billions of stars above our heads,
to which most pay no heed?
Or the sickening, pathetic actions
of the extremist religious creeds?
It could be our working life,
and our incessant administrative need.
Or perhaps it is our requisite for riches,
and the impending greed.
Maybe, it’s just what we’ve done here under the stars,
damaging the earth, and the air we breathe.
I don’t blame you for the way that you are,
or the things that you’ve done,
for your intention was always
that you’d end up alone.
In truth, you were just a nameless baby in a basket,
abandoned on the steps of a broken home.
You had every opportunity to fight your way up,
and become, to someone, dearer,
but I found you always
searching for beauty
in the blackest and coldest of mirrors.
And so I questioned your ethics,
and begged you could change,
but with your roots deep in hopelessness,
and your head hung in shame,
you answered me “maybe we’re all just babies in baskets,
abandoned on steps, without names.”
“Be compassionate to yourself. That means being gentle to yourself at times when you feel like being self-critical. Think what you’d say to encourage a friend in a similar situation. We often give far better advice to others than we do to ourselves.”