When I finally had the words,
I cursed those words,
In my mind I put down blurbs,
Drowned my brain with a unique,
Need for pity.
A brisk touch, finality,
destined death stuck here with me,
give me growth, fake artistry,
or something witty.
Come sit down we're amending,
wanting plenty known trite endings
for the people still pretending
to use those wretched hands,
Another round,
and reamending,
to the deafening rescinding,
and lack of brevity,
A lack of sound,
It's unending,
In everything but memory.
Watching as they take their flight.
How they long to use their might,
fighting what they feel is right,
in their misery.
it's just missing pageantry,
no more prophets left at peace.
As we deliberate a niche,
for their eulogy.
So now the question posed to me,
stuck dissenting endlessly,
Lamenting what should now be free,
with no olive tree.
And sure, I know I'll understand
why they all long to find a clan,
empty kinship, ****** hands,
people used as grains of sands,
glass for entry.
Come sit down we're amending,
wanting plenty known trite endings
for the people still pretending
to use those wretched hands,
Another round,
and reamending,
to the deafening rescinding,
and lack of brevity,
A lack of sound,
It's unending,
In everything but memory.
The times we found were stuck on tracks,
Puppets walking, string-held acts,
Answers that we all seek out,
very grimly.
Undermined by empathy,
stuck in our own Haligtree,
wanting more faux artistry, liminally.
Doomed to fade into the tracks,
chasing dreams of vapid stacks,
so we don't bleed straight through the cracks,
into our own sea.
Come sit down we're amending,
wanting plenty known trite endings
for the people still pretending
to use those wretched hands,
Another round,
and reamending,
to the deafening rescinding,
and lack of brevity,
A lack of sound,
It's unending,
In everything but memory.
