Tightrope or feather bed
I chose tightropes
She chose feather beds
And this is what she said:
Thinkin' last night, when asked,
But could not tell -
You've spent your emotional life
While I have hoarded mine
Puts a great gulf between us,
Sets us on opposite shores,
At hopelessly distant points
Of our respective shores
You said I was a candle
And you were the only mirror
That could reflect my light
That's true, but I am afraid
So afraid that the words
I long to unpack for you,
Are only, to you, old stories,
Old familiar tales you've read, lived
So afraid of this, that often
And often I stuff my words
Back into their box,
Lest I should see you smiling at them
If, wherever you touch me,
A heart beats under your touch
If you can't come into the room
Without my feeling all over me
A ripple of flame
If, when you hold me, I don't speak,
It's because all the words in me
Seem to throb, my thoughts blur
Why should I be so afraid
Of your seeing, hearing my words
When I can turn the familiar
Old tales back into such beauty
Tried to tell her not to be afraid
She never put her fears aside
Never unwrapped the words
Never said what I longed to hear
© Cowboy Coleridge
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem