Tuesday,
like the thousand before,
or the thousand before
your eyes

Tasting that dread hope
of salvation
from the ocean
to the sky

Still, I dream,
stealing visions from children
who easily forget
that daddy never really mattered
momma never really cared

and I haven't either,
not in their waking hours.

Freedom,
and a solitary life,
the last sane wish
of a master
whose life ended
nearly a decade ago.

With unkempt promises,
unfulfilled wishes,
and the blueprints of a smile
that could charm the
Devil himself
into believing...

or lure him into church.

Time,
that thieving legend
that blooms flowers
and turns sexy youth
into old,
frail things
we end up turning our eyes
away from.

Why?
Why did you let us down
again?

Weren't we also cautious?
Didn't we taste as sweet?

And then,
as tortured day
bleeds
into tortured day,
there's that one main
picture of
you
burned into my minds eye.

You,
with your uncanny longing
and innocent words
for whom
the thousand battered
miles
to my heart
seemed
but a Sunday walk,
and you traveled that path
daily,
until you knew the
twists and
turns
as well as ones knows the route
to their bed
in the dark.

You thought that was
love.

That it proved something to
me.

Always hoping,
against the brutal truth,
that your pain
and devotion
would
or could
open my eyes.

Like I would open my eyes
for love.

Never for love.

That single minded
psychopath,
who dances on the
ruffles of young maiden's dresses
and fills their stomachs
with poisonous butterflies.

No,
his elixir is madness
and his tools are cruel.

He is no friend to the dreamer
who sees his world
in could's,
or should's,
in what if,
in there.

I could never change
for love.

His hand is filled with a
yearning
that cannot be satisfied.

His kiss,
a thirst that cannot quench.


No, dreamers have no
patience for love.

And so,
you never reached me.

Lie melted into lie
until your own heart
became as fragile as mine,
and you hid it away
in a place I would never
be able to find it.



Years passed...

A little girl grown up,
almost as empty,
as cold
as me.

Ah,
but she learned her
lessons well
and eventually she was shinning,
like the cold,
lonely
moon.

Second greatest light in the heavens.

Fate,
seed of the forever tree,
the muse that knows me best.

She fed me with drops of dew
from her leaves
and said I couldn't play house any longer.

So I packed up my
magic bag
and
tucked away my
secret key.

Then I wrote
the end of your world
in a song
I never had the heart
to sing you.

Justice,
in the passing of a page.
My heart is a page,
and if I live to see God
I'll write her a love poem on it.

But in the in-between time,
that moment that
stretches until
all other moments
are hidden
by shadows of
falling sand,
I sing a sinners song.

Remembering what I
sacrificed
to spend a little time with you.

Still,
I cling to the
belief,
that the end
will justify the means,
and one day you'll thank me.