Phoenician, I will find you

I've woken up a stranger
Shocking the face I see as a reflection
But the deeper I look
The more I am thinking
How much I need to see who I am
My history is a crime
My disguise is a shame
But the spring is here and I are wondering
What is keeping me in the shadow
I can hear the silence of night
Break off into the day
And I grab at the remnants of dawn
That linger in the shadows of the garden
I wish I could pocket those shadows
Or at least photograph what it is that only I can see
Ah, yes I have felt it
And I know what exists, where safety embraces nature
Love is there near a pen that is stuck into the ground
Where the poplars are tall and January is forever in gilded frame

There are ships that could have taken me
There are fires that should have burnt me
There are books that I would have written
There is a dancer I should have danced with
down by the lake, beneath the poplars, answering his questions about my history and dirty thoughts

What is there left to do?
When happiness is all there is to want
Yet feelings are the only things we can not control
So we dig the gardens and walk the paths
Hoping to catch a glimpse of the place that love resembles
And will we feel the grief of disguises in reflections for much longer?
Will we be parted by bad choices, easy paths and hard conclusions?
The result of destiny, the hand of fate holding the final volume
Of a series of books written by ourselves, on a day in January
Sacrificing to each other, for each other, and hoping love would prove us wrong
Love that still lies beneath a poplar that today is budding new leaf
With a silver pen stuck in the ground
For us, for our love, for the actor and the poet, and January's gilded frame

There are roads that could have led me
There is art that should have taught me
There are smiles that I would have always given
There are thoughts that take me away
down by the lake, beneath tall poplar trees, answering questions of love and dirty thoughts