11 October 2014

Naught But A Poem

I already wrote words for this
For every wound sealed with a kiss
For every goodbye, for every excuse,
For every time I would pick up and move.
Dawn wandered in on a lonely day
While Paradise skipped over hills far away,
And I saw a light, in the emptying night
That wasn't the sun, for it had run;

I sifted through meaning
And still I found none. 

Hollow and shapeless, the lies fell apart
Just to stand naked in front of my heart
Touched and now broken,
All words have been spoken
Until only silence knows what to say.
And dawn wanders in on a lonely day.
I could ask if you're done, is it over and won,
But the war starts anew, and I'm already through.

I could weep but for darkness,
Tears are but a harness.

There is nothing new, nothing gentle or true,
Just the ghost of a thought, what isn't, but ought,
The contest the same, the endless tangle of games,
Till I'm bloodied and sore, and the winner took all.
More nightmares and death, more smoke on my breath,
I am shaded and grey, the dawn's light of the day
I am silent and cold, the story is told; 

Here endeth the lesson, that is the rope,
There is naught but a poem, where once there was hope.

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