i am a worm,
who discovered,
you could be a butterfly.
and that river,
we never,
will remember,
stays in my mind,
and i visit it,
at nights, when Ella Fitzgerald ruthlessly comes on the little plastic radio,
and A.M.
will not leave me alone.

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

Holy yards of hallowed houses of prayer
rise in sublime chants and hymns
at this hour of the blessed dawn
when auspicious shades of light
grace the scabbards of swords
long sheathed and covered in shadows
of figures on the stained glasses

A divided land of long used to darkness
engulfing, rejoices: a saviour rises,
a hero who can unite and heal:
purple robe and the rag, Roman
and Celt: the long suffering realm
finds solace at last in order and justice;
A quest brews, of sacred chalices

In the noble hearts of faithful knights:
Alas, a tragedy in the shadows,
whither, famed Artorius, wise?
Hades schemes to ****** away
your Persephone to Annfwyn afar:
No mortal wounds could fell you alive,
But this, you carry on to Avalon.

The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.
There is a burn and a sting that no amount of debriding will remove.
Twenty years of sliding down a dead end street,
And I am left raw and road weary at the end of it all.

And where do I go from here?  Where do I go?
Do I pick up the scraps of my worn down soul
And hobble back the way I came?

It is travelling in reverse, and my soul ****** well knows it.

I wonder why I wore the leather armor, and not the metal, not the metal?

I was a strong woman, and he was a troubled man.
And in that moment of unselfish confusion,  
He put on the maille, and I was pleased.

It was travelling in reverse,
And I ****** well knew it;
I ****** well knew.

The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.

Cold, weightless, shadows.
Ashes of us fall,silent.
Garden of grey, blooms.