Written when I was about 16.
Tomorrow. How I will remember you.
And how I will remember you tomorrow.
But you will forget me within mists of situations,
Sadness due to circumstance
And memories of me and all my love.
You will forget the depths in which I swim,
Waiting for the branch to clutch to,
Longing for the banks and again dry land.
Dry land on which I die a thousand deaths,
Cry a million tears, and
Make images of me and all my love.
So where is there, then?
Explain to me where I should turn and go,
To find your haven and creep into it with you.
Where are all the squirrels you have walked amongst,
In peaceful woods, at lunchtime, in the sun?
Or are you too a lonely soul,
Who walks to find where music is alleged to play
And singers stand in line and serenade you,
As you cry your final tears and then you smile?
Explain to me, my love, explain why,
If you walk, you do not stumble as I do,
And sting your eyes with blowing dust,
And cry with loneliness, and wonder why
The walk goes on all night and sun refuses to come out?
Or is it my wood, or our wood,
That your feet tread in at all?
Although I thought that if we walked we walked together,
On the same ground, harsh or soft.
And if your eyes are dry
And life is simply looking, as you say,
Then take my hand and help me search
For everything that I have ever missed.
But hold my hand until the end,
For when we break I cannot look.
I will drown once again.
I cannot walk upon the water as you do.
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