Sunday, December 25, 2011

Every Time A Bell Rings...

...an angel gets his wings. 


Inspiration from It's a Wonderful Life.

Baby, it's cold outside. I don't feel like moving from this deep sleep. 
Baby, it's cold outside. I need you close to me. 


She lights a candle and puts on that slow record,
the one that lulls her into sweet dreams. The moment pulls along,
like the long drag of a cigarette; like honey dripping off a spoon. 
She cracks the window and sits on the sill; she tucks her legs up to her chest. 
It's snowing outside. The moon's casting shadows across her bedroom floor.
That lonely bedroom. That lonely moon. 
Lasso it. She wishes she could lasso the moon. 
She wishes she could find someone willing
to make dreams like that come true--
wishes she could find someone worth wishing for. 
The snow sparkles on her sill like shattered panes of glass.
If only she could pull the moon down from its high palace. Then she'd have someone
to spend the night with--someone to whisper her dreams to
in the dark, black night. 

Where do those dreams go, into the darkness?
Into the night sky?
Out into the storm, to get mixed in with the snowflakes
and built into an igloo in some child's front lawn? 
I hope so. I hope they make their way in a world as
cold as this one. I hope they make it long enough
to see the ground thaw and the spring bloom. 
I hope they make it.

She wants moonbeams to shoot out of her skin. 
She wants to dance until the sun rises and makes the hillside pink. 
She wants to live in a perpetual dream, in which the record never
stops spinning and her feet never tire and her dance partner never tires.
She wants to look at her flower and watch it multiply into a garden. She wants to be 
foolish enough to believe, fully, that the real world can mesh with her dreams.
She wants beauty. She wants to be made of moonbeams.


Dream a little dream for me, 
for  all's fair in love,
isn't that what they say?
That's why she lights up
like a firefly,
that'd look so pretty in a jar on a bedstand or
on a printed postcard--
That's why she shys away
like a secret--
when you're around.

For, all's fair in love.
Her taken heart jumps just thinking
of walking with you.
All's fair in love. All's fair in love. All's fair in love
and war. Well, I don't know about war.






Baby, it's cold outside. Won't you climb in next to me?
Won't you catch that moon, ring that bell, sing that tune?
And take these fallen petals and tuck them away, for
they'll be worth something, someday. 
Let me have your vacant ear, 
let me whisper my childish dream,
though I know you'll never hear,
Baby, it's cold out, hold me close, hold me near.



 

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