Since We Were Five
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive;
although, to tell the truth, I can’t blame you.
I’ve been in love with you since we were five.
You must be used to seeing me beside
your desk or table while we were at school.
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive.
While you were playing soccer with the guys,
you kicked a bit too hard and lost your shoe.
It’s then I fell in love with you, at five.
But after middle school, I realized
that all the other boys must like you too.
I’m still not sure you know that I’m alive.
I know I have no chance, but I still try
to say, like people in the movies do,
“I’ve been in love with you since we were five.”
But I’m a coward. I can’t meet your eyes,
however desperately I wish you knew:
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive;
I’ve been in love with you since we were five.
Eden
Imagine places beautiful and free,
reflected in the mirror-doors of art.
Those places have been made for you and me.
Reality exacts a heavy fee
on love; its jealous fingers tear apart.
Imagine places permanently free.
A blinded world cannot be made to see
what we have built, so come, and let’s depart
to planets that were made for you and me
and I will be your Adam; you, my Eve.
Together in this garden, we’ll restart.
Imagine places natural and free.
Alone but never lonely we will be,
sharing our sweet fruit and beating hearts
in places that were meant for you and me.
And even when the human race believes
reality’s dark dirges, we’ll be smart,
imagining our world so bright and free—
the only place accepting you and me.
