This hallowed ground we stand on
was built on lies,
and I can’t pretend I don’t see it shaking.
There was more to me,
and more to you.
This was a gift,
a blessing to be treasured;
now all we’re digging for is rust.
I thought there was more to you,
but you’re just a plane jane,
wrapped in gold.
Should’ve know these lumps held lies,
but I pretended these holes weren’t made by bullets,
you unleashed.
My sacred love,
is now resting in its grave
as you carve out one more hole,
for me.
love can die so quickly, be taken for granted: when it should be treasured.
