Dwell.

The Time Traveller, in theory, could
do all the things I know I would -
correct all of those mistakes from His past,
and cherish those moments He once thought would last.
It's easy to dwell upon such fantastical things,
itching a desire inflamed like lasting insect stings -
but I know that the The Time Traveller,
in theory, should
do all the things the same.
He could not sacrifice the rest
for his own personal gain.

Finnish.

I knew a Finnish girl once,
that would like to teach me words.
Pronunciation... difficult she'd often
break it into thirds.
But one she never taught me,
was how to say goodbye.
And when I asked her for her reason
she said -
"But goodbye, would be a lie."
Putting partly down to mis-translation
and partly down to alcohol -
it being Friday and her being of the teenage occupation...
Yet she repeated her words.
"But goodbye, would be a lie."
Now she's not one to make a mistake twice -
I don't know if I'd call her English good
but it was certainly nice and so
I asked her again to explain.
"Fate." She said - considering the mystery
her answer seemed plain,
but she left it that and the question
remained.

Not more than two years later I finally understood
when I saw in a hotel bar, the exact same Finnish girl
I'd once spoken to, from afar.
It all clicked - it all made sense.
"Goodbye, would be a lie"
because we would always end up here -
even if I'm not a fan of the divine -
this seemed odd. Undeniably so.
I built up the confidence to go over,
thinking of some cheesy line.
A rehash of a rehash from that one once
original time.
But in the final moments all that escaped my lungs,
Finnish I'd remembered now seemed like distant tongues.
As I sat in the chair, smile armed and ready.
My breath I had to steady.
It wasn't her sitting there.
But some other girl, with the same ribbons in her hair.
She looks up, confused at first.
But confusion gives way to curiosity
which works it's way into a smile.
And for what feels like a long while. I freeze.
It's easy, break it into thirds.
"It's kinda funny...
I once knew this Finnish girl
who liked to teach me words."

Start.

Well your mind's in the right place,
but is your heart?
Meaning to do well doesn't mean too much
if it's something you never start.

Paint.

It only took one hand
to knock the can
and make it fall.
A single line of red clings,
still wet upon the shadowed wall.

Spilt paint to some;
a catastrophe for others.

Still that red line clings,
silent and still, upon a matchstick hall -
and whilst being built upon the sands,
never were there any plans,
for what to do should the tide make it fall.

Beneath.

You think you understand,
but you have no idea -
if your eyes were to catch
sight of a murky lake,
you'd act as if it was clear.

"I can see the sands and
what lays upon it.
I can see the sands and
all that is beneath."
- but be careful,
for once said words
are weapons no man
can sheath.

Thin.

I'm not sure what I have faith in.
All I know
is that it's starting to wear thin.

Fingerprints.

A blast from the past
blows my finger prints away.
Identity theft -
"Please stop her before it's too late!"

A chest bereft of a heart
would never stop beating -
but only because it would never start.

We act like we don't make our own fate -
waiting for the reel to finally reach the good part.

We ignore our own consequences -
and hide behind rhyme or comedy.

But the truth is never far behind
and for that there is no remedy.

A blast from the past
blows my finger prints away.
But no matter what she may do
her prints will always stay.