Monday, March 19, 2012

Yet to be

Broken pieces of a life wasted lay on the floor of this cold house.
The door hangs open and the wind rushes in.
It carries the pieces away.

Love wales to the moon on a cloudless night.
She weeps for her loss in this life.
She cries for her dead lover.

My heart is torn and shredded; it lies in your hands still.
I want it back so that I may try to put it together.
But you squeeze it tight to renew the pain.

If I were a bird I would fly away into the sky until I could no longer breathe.
I would fly all the way to heavens gates and wait patiently.
I would wait until they let me in.

Sleep does not come soon enough to my weary body.
I will make it come if it refuses to come for long.
I will make it come, and I will have rest.

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