The Time, by Olivia Plunket
You make your way across the room and fall beneath me,
I fly, you fall,
I fall, you fly,
We soar.
I can feel your hand in mine; I can hear your heartbeat in my ear.
It's a comfort, if it's steady, if it's clear.
This is my time, our time, the time,
Where we will find this essence that draws us in,
This fire that burns around us,
But when I see you your eyes change, you change,
This is it, this is the time, and you're my time.
You're my time and I'm your minute,
You're my hour and I'm your second,
And this place, this person, this heart is mine to give,
I give it to you ... it is time.
The Theatre, by Sophie Millar
It’s tiring,
Acting.
On a one-man stage,
All the roles left down to you.
Trying not to forget,
Who you really are.
Thinking, beneath the masks,
Is there even someone still there?
It’s tiring,
Acting.
Concentrating so hard,
To be those persons they all expect.
(photo courtesy 0f Photos8)
No comments:
Post a Comment