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.”