Even ThoughEven though I can't drawI can still see what others have drawnAnd laugh, because I see their shapes and linesLifting off the page and taking their first breathsEven though I can't flyI can still dream of birdsAnd summer clouds in impossible huesAnd a little girl on a gliderEven though I can't meet BeethovenI can still hear his musicThe notes have survived, though he has notThey fill my head like ghostsEven though I can't change the worldI can still know the truthBecause I would rather its blade shatter my heartThan for lies to stroke my face and leave my soul be
Unanswered QuestionsAs I walk along this beach at night,I look to my feet, and see, not debris,Not waste,But a treasure trove of stories - ideas.This driftwood log -What foreign port did it make its journey from?What thousands of miles did it travelBefore it arrived here, at my feet.And these shells,With patterns and colours so rich and vivid;They tell me stories of placesUnder the ocean;Or of other times I cannot visitExcept in my imagination.And what about these rocks?Beachglass? Or perhaps something more?Did they come from the court of an emperor?Or perhaps they are jewelsFrom a long-lost wreck in the Spanish Main.I do not know.Tonight
HeavenIn heaven there'll be a library.And in this library there'll be every book every written.And it'll have armchairs, and fireplaces, and windows,So I can just sit and watch the world go by.In heaven there'll be oceans so I can sail,And islands that I can land on,And exotic ports with colourful characters,And somewhere I can dock up and call home.In heaven there'll be music.I'll play the piano, and whole worldsWill spring from my fingertips,And the sound will carry me away.In heaven there'll be a sky,And clouds that look like castles,And stars in constellations, so many of them,And a hill to sit on, so after a big day of advent
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