OUT OF REACH
© Tadhg Cooke

It’s early afternoon, dusty sunlight spilling through your door
I’d long given up on you, o my pale blue muse
But every phrase I scrawl, on my bedsit walls… say

That you’re out of reach, out of time,
out of mind, But not out of mine,
I can’t let your scent fade
No matter who you’re waiting
Or saving your sighing for …

Pitch clouds forming, deep in my skull, have my troubles begun?
I can’t trace them, these knots I’ve tied,
years trying to explain you
with every phrase I scrawl on my bedsit walls…

but you’re out of reach, out of time,
out of mind, But not out of mine,
I can’t let your scent fade
No matter who you’re waiting
Or saving your sighing for
Loving or hating
Or demystifying…

Oh some good things come to those who wait
But I do alright on my own
With no patience of my own
To reach you…
and you’re out of reach