a bitter blade's first cut
will never be its last
a self-fulfilling prophecy
an echo of the past

its song still makes me sing
a whisper hardly missed
remembering the harmonies
retaining my clenched fists

there are too many broken strings
to play another song
still the music swells inside my walls
it's not a question to play along

I'd be more afraid if the music stopped
what if I forget all the words?
memories deafened through roaring silence
unsure of melodies I'd misheard

I still hear its hum inside my head
as hard as I try to forget
a question of whether it's now or forever
undoubted, hard-earned regret

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

’Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

’Tis Miracle before Me—then—
’Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

the last page
final chapter
close the cover
this story
is over

My body's made of dust and muddy earth
And yet my soul descended from the sky,
Love's been my mistress from my very birth
And I'll protect it always, till I die.
She's like a down that gathers in a pile,
Because she's sensitive and pure and light,
But if the wind starts blowing for a while,
Then she gets scared and suddenly takes flight.
On our Earth, love is a little shy,
People have lost their meaning and are bad,
They are attached only to things that lie,
Love for some time, and then they all get mad.
But I respect my mistress, she's sublime,
I'll be her slave until the end of time.

In a world with
pain sorrow suffering
grief corruption mourning
angst yearning loving fighting,
where are the poets who bring us
joy through their delightful writings?