A Matter Of Life and Breath

When It's Time For You To Go

When it’s time for you to go,

Don’t turn and wave,

Instead,

Consider this,

If there should be a blessed place,

Beyond,

A land of half-forgotten ghosts,

Then I will follow you and

We shall meet once more,

But if this other Eden,

Should prove unformed,

Remember this,

One day, I too will rest amongst

The longest sleep,

And you,

Alone, no more.


Just 'Cause You're Breathing

Just ‘cause you’re breathing,
Doesn’t mean you're alive,
Just ‘cause you’re clever,
Doesn’t mean that you’re wise,
Just ‘cause you’ve faith,
Doesn’t mean that you’re kind,
Because you can see,
Doesn’t mean you’re not blind.
Just ‘cause you’re loving,
Doesn’t mean you know love,
And by sitting in church,
You don’t speak for Above,
Just ‘cause you’re hurting,
Doesn’t make you unique,
And because you feel down,
Doesn’t mean that you’re weak,
Just ‘cause you're thinking,
Doesn’t mean you don’t strive,
Just ‘cause you’re breathing,
Doesn’t mean you're alive.


Cast A Careless Shadow

Don’t ever cast a careless shadow
Nor creak the polished wooden floor
Or breathe too deep although you’re dying
Nor look too wise or walk too slow.

Don’t ever let them see the falling
Of tears upon a window pane
Keep down and low and quietly trying -
You'll get to where you want to go.


I Will Remember You

I will remember you when the best of you has gone
I will remember you when the song you loved is sung
I will remember you when I stand on hills where we once walked
I will remember you and your laughter as we talked
I will remember you and all the kindness that was shown
I will remember you when your tired soul has flown
I will remember you when each new day has a dawn
I will remember you when the last of you has gone.



On Some Quiet Smiling Day

I know nothing of the rules you use, 
Or the gods,
Or stars you live by
All I know is how I’ve done,
How I’ve kept,
My peace within,
I’ve never been the best of men,
And many times I’ve failed in all I was.
But on some quiet smiling day,
I’ve tried to help,
And telling no one,
Leave something,
Better than it’s found.
I know nothing of the buildings that you pray in,
Or the books you live through,
All I know is I try to be kind
To be decent, to understand,
To care.
Sometimes that is not enough,I know.
But I’ll never stop trying.


The Sounds Her Heart Makes

In the black hole at the centre of a quiet, quiet night,

She stares at the ceiling,
And listens to the blood pumping through her ears,

And to the odd scrape and screech that comes from her rusting heart.

Once, it used to beat as strong as an ox,

And that was in the days when she was prepared for love and war,

But when no one came to call,

When no one brought her flowers,

Her heart began to fade and rust.

And now she finds a comfort in the sounds her heart makes,

At least she gave it a shot with all her smiles and pretty bows,

Although there were time when she’d thought, just maybe,

That someone would have seen her soul.

But on that morning when she felt the first sharp creak,

She knew then it was all too late,

And that she would be listening to the rusting of her heart 

Until it was time to sleep.


The Dust Road 

As they drove the last few miles, the wind grew warmer

And he closed his eyes, fixing his mind on that evening

When they celebrated with a party

Everyone was there that night, alive and well

Taking joy in each others' companyNever thinking that things would change so much

That fixed point in his head was where he ran to

When the days were cold and bare

Perhaps he repainted the colours every time he visited

But it was his to do as he wished,

For there he was truly, truly happy,

That one perfect night before his world crumbled

And turned to dust. 
 

Breath Taking

....if she had looked up at that moment, his nurse would have seen his toes moving in waltz time to a tune that only he could hear. Through the willow window he could see the stars and the Moon and he remembered how, as a child, he would lie on his back and be overwhelmed by the wonder at it all. But now he was old and almost finished and yet he still could conjure a picture in his head of him at seventeen dancing to the Blue Danube. And that was his final thought before life finally took him back. If there was a God, and he felt sure that there was, then the music was some part of God - a sliver that rippled across the universe, an echo of God’s love, and to the man this was greater than all the wonders of the world. But if there was no god, then the waltz was written by an ape that had only recently walked upright and had created these notes while it cried to the stars: and that, to him, was just as breath taking..... 






bobby stevenson 2013