The Ocean's Only Cry
I placed a match to paper strewn, to pages old and torn ,
and curling limbs (which are never sure) rest against the flame,
testing strength and breathing through, what samples leaked instead.
Chances are the night was born for teasing images - dancing,
for answers out of reach and seeing.
We could burn this place and all itís love
and never win the war, or simply ask for seconds
if only seconds were allowed.
We sang through all the circles, we tore ourselves the same.
But still the weatherís asked too much and wishing only cries,
it only weakens me in ways I canít afford.
I would of talked about an aeroplane or the miles in-between,
and hereís been lost a thousand times and bleeding animals - scream.
They carry on with secrets sworn and eventually let go,
how were you to know? - How was any of this alive to you,
if hands were always empty or clenched so tight they whitened?
I gathered burning yesterday wouldnít really do,
so I walked along the empty shores in hours - alone from you.
I could have kicked my way through ashes tumbling
in shadow of every step, but instead I turned and looked inside
the oceanís only cry, and filled myself with cancers running -
completely unwilling,...to die.