Here, where the world is quiet Listen to the silence that cannot find it’s voice. To love that cannot find the kiss. To understanding that cannot comprehend compassion. The world has tired of these minutes turned hours Withered petals of barren flowers Broken shadows where people cower And everything but rest.
Here, where slumber and dreams drift into empty streets. Wine-stained skin, drinking in the rain. Stiff clothes and soft eyes, trembling in the whiskey dark. Spirits broken, only in death will chests ache and fall with relief Eyes strong and grave with sleep and finally too weak to weep—
Here, where the fall leaves venture into the wind, that bends the grass in a bow to the pretense of kings and queens buried beneath the trees that drink late autumn honey, of old weapons found too late Hard eyes, cruel smiles, a man walks free, forgetting Once he tires of laughter.
And here, together with you our lips clinging to each other our backs bowed in the erroneous light I cannot escape my love for you. I’m so afraid of the hurt again. I want to give myself over no pretenses, no reservations Let your damaged heart mend my broken soul. “I’m scared,” I whisper of love that doesn’t last forever. Of this hurt that might.
But here, there is only me, and thoughts I don't want to be alone with. I want to point a silver arrow at the blue sky, let it rip into the heavens, and bring God down. I want to meet His eyes from His spot on the ground, arrow protruding from a heart that doesn't beat. I want to ask him one foolish thing. He will let me. “Why do hearts break in silence?” And his answer, I know, will be: “Selfishly, we don’t beat as one.”