How penniless, pathetic, passive.
A time that burned with
The recognition of the heart,
For so long, merely a cavity lay
Where the beats should lie.
Then, by the call of the
Siren,
It became apparent
That a vestibular
Rhythm entered
My core.
Could it be,
My most painful irony
Could be:
That I only grew a
Heart
For it
To be
Stolen
And
Broken?
Maybe.
The time has come alone
(this time)
To observe the
Ambiguity of my existence
Tear from some eyes
Tear from the cavity.
It’s empty again,
The heart cavity.
Yet,
If one were to look
Next to, Above, Then Squint a little.
There will be your name,
Carved and branded into the flesh
Stating that you were
(and always will be)
There.
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC
How penniless, pathetic, passive.
A time that burned with
The recognition of the heart,
For so long, merely a cavity lay
Where the beats should lie.
Then, by the call of the
Siren,
It became apparent
That a vestibular
Rhythm entered
My core.
Could it be,
My most painful irony
Could be:
That I only grew a
Heart
For it
To be
Stolen
And
Broken?
Maybe.
The time has come alone
(this time)
To observe the
Ambiguity of my existence
Tear from some eyes
Tear from the cavity.
It’s empty again,
The heart cavity.
Yet,
If one were to look
Next to, Above, Then Squint a little.
There will be your name,
Carved and branded into the flesh
Stating that you were
(and always will be)
There.
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