If you only knew me any better,
my scars you would see...
soaked in lies as a shelter,
teasing you to rescue me...

You wanted to nurse my song, they said...
But my music you denied to listen!
Are you poison? Was it pride?
Or It was just my bruised intuition?

Your eyes... fatal swords...
Did lacerate my haunted bloodstream,
But the eternal stares and stolen smiles...
I treasure when I dream.

If I only knew you any better...
your swords I would understand...
Your fears and deep sores I would heal,
with a tickle in your hand.


© Christina Philipe

Bad dreams stalk the nights
powerful, ugly scenes
people from the past, tormented.
Folk you really would, and did
part company with, unhealthy
those you could only travel
so far with, without harming yourself.
They are all alive and well
in the dark of the nights
larger than life so it seems
But they posses no real power
and come morning, they have gone
gone back from whence they came.

to apply oneself to some kind of usefulness
now there is a lifetimes toil
the search and seek of a poets lot
and all that written down in words

Been freed to soar and dip
on wings made from canvas
wooden struts and I strut
my walk to the heavens

-a flight of the mind, oh
yes indeed, from the age
of a child, this is who I became,
this is who I am.