Requiescat
Your death has long since been
strained into the sky;
the birds that scar – with cries more than I could,
touching the grey bell, passing through -
I envy their innocence
for they know you
as something that had never existed,
not hung upon the embroidery of the clouds.
I have no breath of ignorance
to hide in
there as I look up,
my eyes bruised with longing -
the colour of petrol in a puddle;
a heaven more chemical,
I have, for my mind to set a frame.
To hold you somewhere,
a thought to live is this - to give myself
a possession, a suspense of you –
you that could reach into my chest
and menace, make yourself heard at last.
I cannot die alone,
in this terrible lost land,
nor spread a silence of objects to pollute
a time unknown
and where there is no known you.
garside
Thu 13th Sep 2012 20:29
not hung upon the embroidery of the clouds.
aye