Monday, February 17, 2014

There are other things.

"There are other things for us."
She said, staring down the barrel of a gun.
"There are other reasons we're standing here,
other songs that should be sung."
And the weapon's fired,
The clock's expired
And I find myself break a run,
Toward yesterday's
And far-aways
I'd never thought would come.

Until at moment's last, the summer smiles
In the soft ray of light from a moon
And I can't keep up the motion of
Breath having died too soon.
We struggle with our paces
And defend worried faces,
Praying all will soften to a swoon
When the owls cry
And ends are nigh
And never crests from gloom.

Don't pity him,
Don't pity me,
Don't tell me how to stand.
Or how the world is empty when
You're absent someone's hand.
Don't say I'm clear to disappear
And pray things plot my course
The way my mind has drafted it,
When I was yet in sorts.

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