Our heart blossoms and sours so abruptly. As empty as it began, a cacophony of failures soon fill it. If the soul is a desert, the flesh must be an ocean. We cannot swim fast enough.
There are no passing blooms. These fields here empty. Barren and burnt in search of life. The ashy clouds flood across the land... As if the Devil... Drew first breath in these bones. No need for swim have I. For years of drowning have taught. And I now breath under water.
Our heart blossoms and sours so abruptly.
ReplyDeleteAs empty as it began,
a cacophony of failures soon fill it.
If the soul is a desert, the flesh must be an ocean.
We cannot swim fast enough.
There are no passing blooms.
ReplyDeleteThese fields here empty.
Barren and burnt in search of life.
The ashy clouds flood across the land...
As if the Devil...
Drew first breath in these bones.
No need for swim have I.
For years of drowning have taught.
And I now breath under water.
Reluctant martyrs produce terrible songs, my love ...
ReplyDeleteDo not sing like the mockingbird,
who takes no stance on joy or woe,
sing like the redbreast warble,
who songs are both bitter and sweet.
The land is not barren
only
your eyes have been clouded by grief,
only through our tears
may we see,
how abundant our resources
truly are.
Both land and sea offers more
than the vastness that separates
both bodies,
from afar I too can see,
how humble you've become,
how so very meek.
One thing, my dear
you should not peddle heaven with a broken dream,
when you have
Sainthood at your feet!