I weep for the breakers of things.
I cry for the destroyers
I mourn for the burners,
the crushers,
the warriors;
My heart breaks for the breakers of things.

From some timid landmark of dawn
From some futile cry of a mother in morning
From one tired yelp at the breaking of day
Arising despising the darkness descending
From some sparrows soaring
Where mansions are shining
And we with the warmth of hellfire opining
Weep yonder, we breakers of things.

They bled their red, their lines drawn deep
They poured their pots to wine
They gave the evil lonely sun
some bricks to bake
some backs to burn,
They sizzled, swaddled, and in air remembered
what life means to the withered, breakers of things.

Tarry not longing for some Ebenezer
Tarry not healing and balming the wicked
Tarry not over these dreams of ash
forming cracking among the sickest
secret heros of these verses
Won't weep for you, you breakers of things.

We fly with the fortunate
We jet high on the vastest expanses
a geography of sorrow
charting the grief of the waters
We dive deep down among broken things.
We lament holy breakers of things.