She has died after all.
with the memories you have of her,
the rubbish bin of his subconscious.
has abandoned you.
in a way that would gladden her,

We live in a world of miracles.
It’s all so meaningless.
Flowers dance, buds burst
others in ruins,
I saw her lips turn blue,
that’s what I look for.

I can bear to lose her.
This does the heart good.
drag her out of this penitentiary.
When your mother is dead,
And no song is heard
We are.

Come and rest against my breast
in the darkness.
Because now it’s all over.
the man with the hourglass.
from unbelief and delusion.
the dead to life.

Listen, it’s the scythe.
In the bright morning light
even pain can be beautiful.
long for death.
To rot.
and to work miracles.

wander homeless.
You’re not going to lose her.
But her body,
will reach your heart,
the age of miracles is past.

I went in sin,
I loved her body, too.
Hold the lamp nearer.
Take the heartbeat.
with your half-heartedness.
You haven’t fallen in love

who made the heavens
and killjoys.
Thank you for those heartfelt words.
How great must thy need be,
I build houses,
and again you cast me out.

He’s not the sort that dies.
but he’s weak
I tried to see things
At least a dozen times.
Kingdom of Heaven.
Which by sunset is caged

It wasn’t God’s fault, it was mine.
mournful and torturing yourself.
Miracles no longer happen.
If we grieve,
For I also am only a bird of passage
her eyes glaze


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s