I told you

Did I tell you
that you struck gold
holding on to the sun
while you played the drums
to Buckley and Keane
the former having died
in a river not far from here?

Did I tell you
that trees speak
in the wind as they
creak and hush
in the lights of suns and moons
almost silent, unnerving
crying for your hands
to hold them for now and ever?

Did I tell you
someone's waiting
under the blue moon
for you to come
and place a caring hand
on their heart
and tell them
that you'll be there?

I think I've told you
all of this
by the picket fence
all those years ago.
You never came
when blood ran
and when you realise
and you fall on silent words
suddenly sullen
suddenly speechless.