When I was young
I’d dream of a life that unfolded in front of me like the wings of an origami angel
I’d sit in the backyard, wishing on the seeds of dandelions as if I held 1000 paper cranes between my fingers.
When I was young
I’d sit under a sky which looked as though a vulture took the world under its wing
Memorising the tales of meteorites
Only to realise that I know as much about shooting stars as Mark David Chapman.
Where as I lay there wishing for world peace
He probably wishes Lennon would come back and sing him fast asleep
So just imagine,
All the people he carves single file
A new friend each day.
Writing lyrics on stone walls like commandments
But you can’t change your passed Mark
Just let it be.
When I was young
I was told 110 stories
Were written to be burned
As New York folk lore.
This life is a page turner
Bound with twisted steel
Spines coming un-stitched
Breeding legends like arts and crafts
I wanted to be the artisan, that blows glass lungs from desert sands
Repairing the storytellers fragile existence
Those who told that miracle come around about as often as Halley’s Comet
Leaving me to wonder if maybe she’s only in orbit because she’s chasing her own tail
Like I am left chasing the tales once told to me
Of a paper-bag princess actually comfortable in her own skin.
When I was young
They told me to be cautious
Cuz if dreams come true
There will be so many forgotten days.
In lucid sleep I’ve built this man brick by brick
Dreamt of the storms where the winds would tear this roof from my Jericho walls
Filling me up like a rain barrel to spill over the asphalt and grow Eden
It wouldn’t be the first time I was left empty.
And though the darkest days were gone
The shadows meant that I always had a friend stitched to my toes
Telling me to open up,
So I spill my guts like its child’s play
Because in some places it is.
That’s why, when I was young, valentines were made of purple hearts
They weathered wars in this chapel
The pews were trenches from which we eves dropped on sermons spit from no-man’s land,
We stood as martyrs
Fought to stay free of will
And self-exorcised these demons.
During prayer I’d fold my fingers like the wings of an origami angel
The creases played my stories like the grooves in vinyl records do
I am still young
And I write my wrongs on bathroom stalls
Hoping that somebody in their most vulnerable moment my either learn from it
Or forgive me
I have spent 40 days in the desert
Searching for enough sand
To craft lungs for all the breathless willows who dare not whisper
Just in case they makes more Georgia pines tongued tied with nooses spilling from their lips.
I’ve seen gargoyles
Nest in these temples
Guarding me from these ghosts trying to break me down
So make me myth
Give me the knowledge to know:
There’s too many words and not enough stories
There’s too many star and not enough constellations
There are too many drugs and not enough ecstasy
There’s too much noise and not enough silence...
Here,
Now that I’ve given you a moment of gold
I want you to spend it
Remembering what it is
That makes you
Forever
Young.
