Diary of a Wolf Cub

Your face is a spoon
That stirs my cup
Until tea spills
Soaks the saucer
Circular motion
With life of its own.
No matter which way I look at you
I see myself staring back
Longing
Hurt
Desire
Need.
Whatever I heap on you
I know will be carried
To the right place and time
Sugar
Medicine
An egg.
No matter how fast I run
You will support the load
Come along for the ride.
Decadent silver
Reliable steel
Practical wood
I want to pop you on my tongue
And relish your coolness
Smoothness
Earthiness
Metallic Edge
I know all your flavours
Too good to keep in a drawer.

Your heart beats
Next to mine
Every night
Another world
I cannot enter
For fear of losing
The rhythm of
My own beating drum.
I hear your beat
And often I will dance
Keeping time
Allowing myself to
Become consumed
With its force and drive.
Other times I defy its call
Afraid to embrace its
Dominant bass
Wanting to play a solo line
Needing the silence
Of my own unknown song.
I have handed back your heart
Not because I will never use it again
And not because it is not needed.
I give it back to you
As this is the only way I know
To find my own music.
I cannot promise I will ever
Hold it in my hand again
- I cannot see tomorrow
But know the echo of the pulse
You once gave to me
Is always contained within my own
I will carry it forever
A part of all future music
I ever hope to make.

Hope is a boiled egg
Chilled and boxed
Alive with the promise
Of nourishment and fulfilment
Left to simmer for a time
One can only guess
Too soon or too late offering
Disappointment
Wasted efforts
Start over
The crucial moment
Delicate
Cautious
Heat and shell
A precise execution
To reveal best laid plans.
Delicious
Rich
A solid finish
The smooth empty shell
Confirms all is lost
Brief delight gone
Replaced with expectation.
Turn the shell upside down
If you stare long enough
Start to believe
This is hope.

Through inadequate expression
We find poetry
When a night sky
Becomes a battle never fought
When a battle
Becomes a symphony never heard
When a symphony
Becomes a storm never sailed
When a storm
Becomes a dream never dreamed
When a dream
Becomes a reality never lived
When reality
Becomes a night sky
I can only describe as blue
And orange
But not really orange
Because orange is orange
And blue is blue
And everyone knows
The sky is blue
But I see orange
Seeping through gauze
Running through ink
A rudely awakened blur
And there is no battle
No symphony
No storm
No dream
No reality
Just a night sky
And it is blue
And orange
Definitely orange