Thursday, February 11, 2010

honolulu nocturne

The story is hidden in angular lies.
Truths shimmer like the stars
that lead the way.

Ours was the kinda of love,
that begins with a misunderstanding
and ends with a kiss goodnight.

Ours was the kind of love,
that was full of mistakes
and short on good intentions.

From somewhere in the shadows,
a man sings a Honolulu nocturne
that drives away any and all sadness.

Ours was the kind of love,
that can only be healed by the blues.

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