A highly emotional and personal poem....
Even the world,
The world is substance beneath our feet,
Racing along, trying to escape,
Even what we want,
Even then, we lose,
Even then, we are found,
Even then, we are of solitude.
And of the survivalists;
They are evolutions of ourselves,
Reflected in a one way mirror,
Twisted in the warped glass of time,
Brushed aside by scared, scared hands,
Even then, I feel strange inside myself,
Even then, the hardest single thing,
Even when we know we have been,
We live on; this is no journey I want to complete.
My spirit flakes away
And catches on words spoken,
Inside is there a prize,
Or is it an armour of ghostly mica?
A token of nothing
But my distance from the truth,
“I’ll take half and give the rest away”
“Half of what?” is all they say.
I wished myself a pair of wings,
I try again to cry, linger here,
Will you protect me, or will I you?
Even when, from the mists of the mind,
Even then, they will never find,
Even then, such a sad display,
Even when your fingers move,
Over my head with no refrain,
I will distain you, duenna, dear,
Your sloth I despise,
Your body I knew,
And even then my regret, it grew,
As I satiated my deepest yen,
Or lechery, it has seemed since then,
How vicious our perceived limbs.
We race to escape, just like the third,
Even then, our ardour lacks a means,
Even then, when the night drips sleet,
Even when I string myself, and you know why,
That my halcyon words and ideals,
Have left your mind through your eyes,
I care not, and will not shed a layer so
I can never voice,
And my sight may fail,
But my head ticks on,
With atomic form.
Even when another will do,
I trust in you.