It Doesn't Have To Mean A Thing

Poetic Prose, trying to capture a moment

Titled: Hey it's poetry, it doesn't need to mean anything.



Beauty always makes me cry, oh my dear I have cried rivers over you. Slow and sweet I've let that salt flow to my release. Hallelujah. It doesn't mean what you think when you hear it, it's bliss, it's blessing, it's knowing something more than what you could possibly describe and yet surviving it somehow.



"Remember when I moved in you?" Yet you wouldn't,  it was only a dream. My dream, one I'd share if I knew how. Yet there we breathed air that made the world new. "But you don't care for music... do ya?" This is our song.



I didn't care for his voice, I figured that was why he was playing for free in a book store. He must not be talented, he must come cheap and then he began to sing one of my favorite songs. Quiet at first but it grew... he knew the same things that Jeff Buckley knew... Hallelujah. I imagine Zack Snyder knew these things or sensed them as he chose it as the tapestry for his characters to make love on. For them it was release...gratitude from the bottom of their toes... to find just one thing true in the whole mad world. Buckley sang, reaching for something he'd lost, you can feel it in his voice. It's the gratitude for having something beautiful once even if it had drifted away somehow. This boy in the here and now also cradled this music like a sacrament...slow...soft...grateful. Dark eyes under gray fedora had me believing, believing until the last note faded into silence and brought from my lips Hallelujah.



That's all I can hear when your voice finds my ear. It's all I know when I've held you or imagined the force you hold within such a quiet soul. Lips that could draw from mine nothing but gratitude. Your dark eyes that were the model for all I've loved since first I saw them. "Every breath we drew was Hallelujah" Like the whispered Hallelujah you are my prayer, beautiful girl and you are the last one who will ever know. So... you are left tasting only the rain on your mouth and I comforted by my vague prose and love soaked ballads. Breaking what we have in favor of what may be is too high a price. Instead I will thank those below or the man above for everything I've ever felt of love and only whisper my Hallelujahs. Broken words from ruined voice but none the less,



I am at your service, always.