Statues may tumble
But hate still stands
On a pedestal, proud
And foolishly clinging
To a dying light
To a long since lost battle
That will never end.
Walls crumble, steel bends
And the spirit bows
But right or wrong, friend,
It just does not break.
Even standing there
In the rubble of "what should be"
Realizing that doesn't exist now.
There is only "what is".
And all you can do is fight.
Bridges burn, and we'll never
Make it back to where
We were before the fires.
Simply standing on the banks
On our pedestals
In the rubble
Chest puffed
Chin out
Needing to break something else.

Agony becomes worn like a trophy,
When the first hero ventures forward
Breathing pandemonium, miasma,
Missed mothers and fathers,
Dreamt, dreams and dreaming;
Allowed, were the stars to explode.

And I’d have let the world die,
When we left, when she left,
When I left,
Walking to the left of the tall oak
Near 2nd street,
With not the mop of twilight hair
Buzzing about, in my path,
Off my path and vibrant.

But in her stead, boulevards break –
Soon she’d be in another’s arms,
Soon she’d be cradled,
Soon another’s song would sing her
To sleep, to dream,
And soon I’d be a-o-k with that.