Jan 2015
Who can say just what it is,
That has me on my knees.
Be it you or me...
Or the ghosts of yesteryear.
It's beyond all frame of thought,
Just why I'd be so weak.
Be it rapture or pain...
Or the memories of you.
Even still...
I crawl away.
Even still...
I cannot stop.
Though the past may be behind me,
A new ending yet awaits.
And so...
I crawl away...
And so...
I cannot stop.
For who can say just what it is,
That I'll crawl from come next year.
That has me on my knees.
Be it you or me...
Or the ghosts of yesteryear.
It's beyond all frame of thought,
Just why I'd be so weak.
Be it rapture or pain...
Or the memories of you.
Even still...
I crawl away.
Even still...
I cannot stop.
Though the past may be behind me,
A new ending yet awaits.
And so...
I crawl away...
And so...
I cannot stop.
For who can say just what it is,
That I'll crawl from come next year.
I've said in moments of darkness that we cope with that pain because the mystery of what new pain awaits is more intriguing than nothingness. Thought I'd play with that concept in a free verse piece.
