A double-edged blade;
Not as fearsome as advertised, not as liberating as perceived.
A distant echo of stories forgotten,
A deafening siren of deeds undone,
Short breaths to stay conscious;
Long sighs to be bereaved,
A curse for those awake,
Calm for dreamers asleep.
Branches of facts deep within your mind;
A dying shame for the soldiers of time,
It’s better forgotten or ignored at best;
The burning blow could torch up your beloved nest,
Don’t follow your soul to its maligned beats
On count, yet distorted notes astray
It’s still another’s strange, twisted imagination
And dreams woven in morbid secrecy.
Imbalanced as it may seem,
Your only fate and mate, it stands its ground
Embrace it now and forgive your desires
Loneliness is what makes this so real