The Sycamore Trees

Walking down the tiny street
my soul, still incomplete
I find in pain and grief
some kind of a disordered relief

Under the sound of the sycamore trees
I let myself go into a sweet sleep
dancing inner lullabies
waiting for other skies

It's raining in my interior windmills
a cold blue water that takes away my warmed skin
away from me… far away from me…
leaving a bareness, careless, emptiness in me

The anchor that restrained my body is long gone
with this other thing that was my mind
both, rests in a sky island
full with dreams and broken memories
transfixing hazes and green grasses into nothingness

A deep smirking laughter mumbles into my ears
they don't care for my tears
or the shadows that follows my misery
the laughter covers the remains of my heart
a blanket of forgetfulness

to finally ease something… something…
can't remember what it was
only the sound of the sycamore trees
and the cold blue water covering me
this is so sweet… so sweet