Sunday, March 16, 2008

Through

I know how hard it's been
How things can be so grim
How dark the clouds can turn
And the lessons hard to learn

Life can be so cruel
It can turn you into a fool
I know this much is true
'Cause I was there with you

So don't cry again
Don't shed no more tears
Because home is now
And home is here

You are never alone
Because I'm there with you
Feeling the sadness you do
I’m crying there with you
But this I promise you
Together, we’ll get through

But it never ends the same
No one’s really to blame
We each live our own
But you are never alone

Let’s leave the past behind
We can make up our minds
Look up it’s a new day
Hope is coming your way

So don't cry again
Don't shed no more tears
Because home is now
And home is here

You are never alone
Because I'm there with you
Feeling the sadness you do
I’m crying there with you
But this I promise you
Together, we’ll get through

Together, we’ll get through

So don't cry again
Don't shed no more tears
Because home is now
And home is here

You are never alone
Because I'm there with you
Feeling the sadness you do
I’m crying there with you
But this I promise you
Together, we’ll get
Through

- completed March 15, 2008, dedicated to Single Fish on the occasion of her birthday

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts with Thumbnails

The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda