Tangle of Words

Patiently waiting, we’re wanting

for something to break us down.

This curse of love is almost

fading in the waking of understanding.

Now we are waiting for the climax

where we will finally crack;

where we will begin to understand.

 

Yet the point of understanding is not obtainable

in this shell of a life, where we dream in shades of grey,

and where the clouds are too poignant to let the rain fall

on the weak soil of our hearts in order to grow.

 

In this death, in this cold grey morning,

the collision of our lives faithlessly flickers

and we cross our fingers, hoping we’d be

where we will crash, and burn, and live.

 

The sorrow between you and me has become a wall

where we are crossed on lover’s bridge.

In the sighs of yesterday we let the cold seep

in between the pages of sonnets, ages old,

yet we hold fast to the memoirs

of the forgotten truths we’d love to believe.

 

Eloquent is our veiled falsehood made law—

honesty is simply overlaid in hypocritical irony;

we paint ourselves in coats of painful denial

where somehow black and white becomes grey;

but the clear picture is concealed behind muddled.

 

Somehow the sun still rises over the bitter streets

and in the heart of remorse I am lost

among the faces of the wasted.

We crumble with the thoughts that destroy us

where we’re left only to overused shrugs;

Silent nods leave us dead in the temperance we hate.

 

What this was meant to be was forward motion;

Nonetheless, deeply integrated into every cell

is the whispers and the dreams we never left unspoken;

yet we refused to believe it could be true,

that we would only fail,

where we would crash, and burn, and die.

 

At least in death we’d be close.

At least in death we’d understand who we are.

Still even now your voice suffocates me

in the place where I cannot feel you-

when you forget my name,

when I can’t remember who you are.

 

And what we have done, all that we’ve built up

to create this tangle of misused words,

its roots are left unseen, pushed down and forgotten,

and now there is nothing more than the

shallow foundation of meaningless tomorrows.

 

Somehow things fell together out of the dust,

in desperation of the unknown paradise,

the Eden we have never known to exist,

yet within the shadow of a second where we live,

the meaningless words we spew spark the flame

which ignites our fragile hopes, but leaves nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

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