Little beads of light
dripping from the rusty night
into my heart
clenched so tight,
little beads of light
dripping off the rusty old night.
An old red rail across the night
sweats those little beads of light.
Fear and dreading in my head
hears the singing light come in:
Don’t judge this song,
it sings, just write.
My heart is leaking cold and fear
It forms a pool, a mirror clear.
It shows the darkness crouch and loom,
my future stumbling in the gloom.
The meadowsweet has never flowered,
The wintersweet has never thawed.
I’ve watched and cursed for its stark bare boughs
to be kissed alive by those stiff yellow flowers.
My career has never soared,
my children moan that they are bored.
The sweet remember of our sleep
just takes me down into the deep.
But inside out the song it sings
don’t write about the things you’ve done,
how you are never touched by sun,
how you pretend you’re having fun.
You see the dark side, taste the grief,
old sadness creeps up like a thief-
To snatch it back, for now just write
about the little beads of light.