Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Press Play



Press play
In pine trees, playing with the wind like the butterflies’ wings
Press pause
With water, splashing through limestone like a chisel through wood
Press stop
On moss licking forests' branches, billowing from years of silence
Rewind

To the girl taking videos of the butterflies beneath the pines
Your camera’s resolution can’t hold the hope in her wings, child
Pixels can’t pause the river on the mountainside
To the wide-eyed boy trying to capture the waterfall’s splash before it dies
Can you bear to sit long enough to hear the river’s story
To the girl uploading photos of new hair and flawless skin
No album can immortalize your youthful beauty, darling, are we numbing
Fear of the fleeting world frame by frame
posting pictures of ourselves so we don’t forget who we are today
or maybe we know the self who woke up this morning
is already lost in endless videos, streaming
Press pause
did you see that splash of water on the limestone, it’s running 
Press stop
Did you see the way the sunset grasped the treetops, it’s fading
Rewind
What if the light runs out before I’m done dreaming
Fast forward
Will I forget the way your face shines when you’re laughing
Press play -

What if you upload your wishes to the wind with me
Stream all your memories in the riverbed with me
Sit long enough above this crashing water with me
Until the sound can carve a canyon in your mind and soul
Will you listen to the river long enough to know
That your chisel is your flowing, shapeless heart
drop by drop, give up your limestone battles
Frame by frame trust the light of the past to our stars
drop by drop let my stories seep
Into your caverns, and yours in mine
Until we’re fluid and broken enough to carve canyons
Trusting our dreams will take their shape
When we loose our own.

To the man whose mind rewinds through years of regret,
The moss-covered forest holds forgiveness in its branches
To the child with fleeting eyes like butterflies, wishing to fast forward
The young pines that wait for roots until the day their needles glimpse the
mountaintops.
To the young woman, worried her map was lost along the trail
Your inner compass has in mind a better view

Press play.

The mountains care little of your mistakes, my friend,
and if the river can keep running
so can you.