adernaline junkie love

head bowed down
cradled in hands
as they turn
the pages turn
and the way the colours bleedtogether
the thoughts rocking back and forth
and then again this is a frantic energy
pulsing through
interrupted
plan i need a plan
stripes of a different color
planes of light
lasers in actuation
adrenaline junkie
love
i don't have the time to stay
the time to stay the same
shaking breath
denouementthe waterthe foolthe follower
tension/
fallen faster then physics dare permit
the spastic conundrum
inanities
shattered glass and concentration
big battles, remember.
we fight for the big ones.

but with\in ourselves
we are losing
malfunction
because of where we are from
and what we need
\what they say we need

manic insomniac]
green burst after green burst and sunburst
fishing for keys with a metal coat hanger
twisted and reaching
oh, what is hope.less
love and
copper dreams like shining flame\
and this is as foreign a sound
that i cannot control

language river
pouring down the waterfall
and what you see
is obscured by what ever else lies before
and freedom
is just some people talking
justice and wishes
wearing down at your bones
ginger marrow
carving a place away
we fight for the big ones
and final darkness
sleep

reflections

Sometimes it comes to me-
the blank and bitter starstruck ground
swimming out with light reflected everyway.
this, like drowning,
burning out the eyes and gasping for breath.

And i could see forever,
blue from the sky
forced to the ground
attenuated lines
reflecting
falling behind
this is dealing with distance
dealing with self
shadows always seems so strong-
unidentifiable
the mystery lends power
the darkness lends faith
the missed call is a sign
that someone cares,
goddammit,
someone cares.
and i see it.
over the thousands of miles traversed
how distant we still are
and i flashback to summer

G-d bless the daylight
throwing fate in relief
circles within circles
guilt
viewed clearly as an outsider
because it is not mine.
the guilt was never mine.
being forced to see yourself
without the self effacing hate and rose coloured glasses
whose foolishness is only so much yours
as it is your fears
bleeding out into open sea
and you swill down this weakness
you hate it and embrace it.
you make it your own.

G-d damn the dark night
all thoughts rushing in
the tide
rising
harmony
harmonize
rising up until the shrillest call can be heard
above all else
above my head
pale sunlight breaking through
this is a new dawn breaking
sun burst faction
blinding universe
until i make my own forevers
oceans reflecting oceans
and questions
reflecting questions
until an arrival is made
at something like love.

Choice

Hello;
a return is made
but I have not changed.
They tell such beautiful lies
and somehow,
there exists a truth.
Ice rains down,
and we explode from the force
of our own rage,
smoldering underground.
I will not go out for hundreds of years to come,
and listen to fragile diamond voices
ripping up the knight.
How dare they stand before us,
claim "blameless"
Degenerate.
You are not a normal person who just got
'caught up it something,'
you had a choice-
you have made it-
now, how you are interpreted is beyond your
own hands.
Welcome to the hands of human kind.
Survival is your motive, goal, buoy.
So hold your head up high,
and smile for the paparazzi.

Sunlight

So.

This is sunlight

Blinding brightness

rays piercing my heart

Morning Burst

Morning burst-
Your pills dissolve,
throwing you to stupor.
Here, another day drips
by
chemical coursing through your veins.

Morning burst-
You awaken
sweating violent fever
surrendering to dreamless, sleepless slumber
with
fire burning through your bones.

Morning burst-
You strive to feel
the melting butter sunlight.
Frosted, diamond grass destroyed
beneath
heavy clad, purposeless feet.

Morning burst-
You find yourself
Broken and listless.
This is how you survive each
day breaking
whenever
morning burst.

Yawn

stretching towards infinity
bones cracking
spreading out
you have sat still for far too long

ideas like breathing
ideas like life
seem foreign,
as you stare at the moon synced with dawn

benign latency
slumping forms
breathing as a long slept monster
with no treasure guarded

water leaks forth
tear ducts dry
tension based were wings would sprout
if only the impossible were not

I am only the moments between dawn and dawn
when the sky leaves time indistinguishable
and I felt like I had never aged,
only grown more tired
and been more dreary

Every moment is soul sucking
but you lack the will to change
this menial existence.
Try, goddammit.

Incompletion equals failure.

A Raven Wrapped in Red Thread

There is a raven wrapped in red thread

bound forever to
this promise of love we led
and every single secret kept
represents another form of regret
as flightless fliers deign to die.

There is a raven wrapped in red thread

staring eyes watch us,
filled with dread,
as the night darkens better-
no brave soul would face the weather
and no bird twitches wings to fly.

There is a raven wrapped in red thread

footsteps wander
which path to tread,
not that the amber leaves have fallen
nor air inducing a feeling maudlin,
and beaky silence induces sigh.

There is a raven wrapped in red thread

a phantom ghost-
our daily bread-
glowing numbers writ in red,
divining meaning beyond time;
There is a raven wrapped in red thread.

TGIF

I match too well.

The pain,
ad nauseam,
until function is erased.
Sitting sloth like in a slump.
11:11 a.m.

I'm useless.
Thinking slowly,
Sinking slowly,
waiting until the lunch bell rings
at 11:18 am.

Fading in and out of focus,
spelling out the words I know,
sitting here and waiting
for the clock to read
3:59 p.m.

six minutes

No need to worry.
This is just the moment in time
as I am waiting for you to call
12:40 am
The Scientist fades out
and Agoraphobia fades in.
I cannot think of a time when
the music sounded better.
I'm going back to the start
and I'm going to stay inside,
for good.
Tear me out,
and you find,
you can't.
I'm entrenched,
I'm part of you,
don't avoid me,
you can't forget me.
Please forgive me for being small
as I place an unanswered call
at 12:46 am

Perception

Disarray is how we follow through
Disassociation of ions
oil and water
separate
separate
separate
get out now
before the structural integrity is lost
long gone,
all gone,
go away
stay away
when you're gone
you are so far gone
and I cannot stand to see you back-
but wait a minute
then you will see
it is not about the you,
the me.
A flimsy attempt at something like
the migration flight of so many senses
and insensible actions
I don't trust you
can't trust you
can't trust you
won't trust you
can you taste the fear?
no trust
no trust
no truth
I don't believe there is any thing better out there
as any better thing slips your mind
and you get lost in your grand design
Who are you when you are not with me?
deception, lies
misconception, cries
tell me
tell me
I want to know
and even if it is something different
each and every time
then the singular grain of truth is worth so much more
than a decades worth of lies.

Introspective storm

Last night,
the rain drummed a lullaby
sending the world to sleep.
~
I will admit
that I did not desire
exit from this conscious world
and only relinquished my grasp therein
after an arduous journey
entangling myself
in something like dreams.
~
He says he is alive and well.
That they are treating him excellently.
But I notice the script,
hidden behind the newspaper,
that is verification for the date:
September 14, 2009.
They want something.
They are using him
as the salt in our wounds.
~
My dreams are innocent and frightening
I meet people with whom I have only ever spoken
and I know them as they are.
The weather is grey, rainy,
introspective.
We are in Boston
but it looks like Chicago,
and there are patrol boats in the river
that borders the college stadium,
almost like SeaWorld,
where we have gathered to watch the game
on two huge television sets.
I am with a friend who left in August,
and I see her,
without a difference discernible between then and now.
And I am so confused about why we are at a football game,
and why there are patrol boats,
white, zooming through the water,
soaking bystanders in their wake,
and Why there is woman's voice from above
calmly repeating
"Do not panic, this is only a test,
Please, continue to watch the game."
~
Upon awakening,
I pause for a moment before I comprehend the rain.
These droplets have fallen, relentless,
for hours,
barely brushing the consciousness
of the nightmared,
sleeping world.

Rough draft

Rough draft
I’m going to be honest. This is not my real first chapter of the autobiography (Auto- self, bio-life, graphy-writing) that I have been assigned to write for English Class. I left that folder at school, over Rosh HaShanna. I regret that, on a certain level, as I had been looking forward to putting those words to type. But I will accept that, because I haven’t anything else to do, except for read and think thoughts that one might consider deep, or narrate my life in a soft voice in my head. So I sit. Laptop propped on my legs, fingers pounding out words that I think only seconds before, my speed barred only by my abysmal typing skills and my distractibility. My mother is reading over my shoulder, but I don’t really mind, only feel slightly invaded, disconcerted. The disconcertion may have more to do with the exhaustion I feel weighing down on me. Exhaustion, if you have never been (which is unlikely if you are over the age of twelve or so, and an American,) truly has weight. It is a blanket, tucked too tight. It is a pea soup fog that engulfs a city, as those called forth by religion and custom journey down to a river and cast their sins on to the waters. It is a rain that feels like a second skin. I want to shed it, follow my sins it to the river, go from 95% humidity to 100%. If I am part of it, I will not feel this haunting separation. I don’t feel right here, in this obvious display of wealth. The grounds are expansive. There is a bridge over the service road, a house of four brick wedding cake layers, terraces and fountains and staircases. I think it would be beautiful if water gushed down, turning these topiaries, bricks and concrete, into a waterfall, swamping the swimming pool, over flowing, reaching tendrils across the tennis courts, down the grounds, leeching slowly into the river. Everything flowing away. It will beautiful. Yes. Spectacular.

Heart

He is a vampire,
not in the bloodsucking,
traditional sense of the word,
a wizard
eating your Heart out,
this beautiful empty.

The splatterings of scarlet
shimmer blood,
rip your Heart out
you don't need a Heart to live,
that organ
pumping,
pumping
blood,
sending it out,
taking it in,
is one heart,
made of striated muscle
expanding and contracting until
the end

But a Heart,
A Heart
is something people
draw,
with question mark reflecting
question mark
Filled with compassion, sympathy,
misguided gorgeous Feeling
like Love
with question after question
as it is extracted from within you
and you witness it pulsing,
glowing in his hand
as the knife slices it thin,
transparent slivers
that melt,
cotton candy,
on his tongue
and elegantly,
slowly,
excruciating,
the feeling
leaves you,
and you float
up
up
up
helium filled balloon
until you reach the stars

Empty space

The way the music sends away the noise
and fills the space between the ears
in the same way every thought used to be the sole focus
of our command
I feel hollow without them
So I fill it
So I fill this space behind my heart
within my head
with all this wonderful nonsense
and angsty weights of gold
that I am only beginning to understand
We do whatever it is we may do to fill the void
and continue to refuse to understand
the empty
fill itfill itfill itfill it
dig it out
dig down
dig deep
don't let the silence take me down (take me down)
don't let these feelings echo out (echo out)
don't let me be all alone (all alone)
I can stand to be alone (be alone)
not to be empty, hollow,
emptied, hollowed.
And on mine own.

quick fix

remission doesn't last forever now,
stand together, now,
when things long gone make their returns
does it always bring you down?
I just watched as history repeated itself to me
laughing in its heartless manner
about how quickly the same story can be retold, can be retold
the beauty of it is, that, some of the characters,
they're different,
but have played these parts before
and it's enough to tear you apart
for someone-elses' happiness
as I am slowly learning
the depth and breadth of my own strength
and power
don't you let me forget it
I want to take you for granted
and I will
and I will
be bitter for a time,
cold and angry,
like ice on fire
and eventually melt,
falling to slumber,
and awakening in the morning,
cured.

Sending out and searching for

I am sending out and searching for
the things that went,
that went before,
looking for the words that mean
not exactly the same thing
when frightfully beginning to unveil
the truth that holds out, fraught and pale,
wishing in the whispered nights
of things gone wrong,
of lives gone right.
Ghostly messengers of our strife
spreading word of eternal life
to masses waiting at the helm
steering the world ship 'round and 'round,
as they send out,
and as they search for,
what ever went,
and went before.

Tired try

I am tired of trying to cater to
_the faces I see in the crowd
_the thoughts I hear when the music is loud
_the anger that fills a strangers house
_the wrath of countries far away
Nobody can stand to
_fill the space
_play the ace
_forget what they have been searching for
_tell a lie
Don't you wish that you could see
_the glorious things you would like to be
_the world as it is meant to be
_everything working to a tee
_something different, something free
Is the future what you want to know?
_Or is it something you'd prefer not to?
_How far can you go?
_Can you go slow?
_Would you wait until I show?
Does everything fade, does it even exist?
Did you know you would be missed?
There are those who would sit and wait
simply because they believe it fate,
But I grow tired of sitting still,
so now, I bend fate to my will.

Considerations

I would not be the first to say
that I have never felt this way:
a pressing need, desire in flux,
morality placed in a crux.

As men fall victim to their vice
and reality as cold as ice
they feel compelled to reconsider
everything that made them better.

Who can be everything they try to be?
Only those who only see what they want to see?
And when it comes time to face the facts
and one must retrace their tracks,

What is it that will push through,
and what is it that will fall away?

Reset

She sways away
seeing things
she should not see
being things
she should not be
believing things
that make her retch
washing away the memories
and naive beliefs of yesteryear
waiting for her dreams to catch
and for someone to hit reset
on the things she knew
but would not admit
and she spins out
with nothing as a center
erratic and unpredictable
unbound by physics
defying rules
she's off the hook
but she won't look
there is no one in the mirror
looking back at her
"Don't take my hand;
Don't guide my way;
Don't make me stay;
Don't let me go."
she stands up straight
and walks away
"Doesn't mean a thing to me,
you don't mean a thing to me."
She walks away
and, god, it's dark
as she leaves her empty room
and heads out to face the gloom.

What am I?

What am I
to think of on these
repeating, sleepless days
that fade into each other
likeghostsandmemories,
when I cannot begin to imagine
this thing called "future"
and these things called "feelings"
and when everything comes down
it would appear that
I am blind
and naive
but hopeful
and in this I am rendered hopeless
and I believe that I can see the air
transparent in my vision
rising,
colder,
escaping the atmosphere
and it is almost like I refuse to accept
this confluence of time
in my long past midnight babble
even though I know
that I cannot be above
the passage of the hours.

Story's end

I was wondering if your adventures
are as grand as you make them seem,
or if that is only a wish of mine,
a hope, a naive dream.
So what would make you say these things,
if only for my sake-
or could it be that you are not real,
a friend I had to make?
The fated words you tell to me
are nothing if not aglow,
and yet, somehow,
I still feel that I have been left below.
So when the story's end has come,
and time has left you deaf and dumb,
remember as I call thee hence
that your "self" is your best defense
and when the sky falls,
do not cry,
For imagination
never dies.

In the Summer Sun

The anger has subsided, at last,
think nothing of horrendous past,
betrayals and laughing lies
festering in the summer sun.

the brightness is a blindness, too,
retracting everything we knew,
facts flying forth and bias blooms,
unfolding in the summer sun.

A balance is struck within the fight
and everyone decides to their own right
and holds their own, for if they don't,
they will fade into the summer sun.

There is no right,
there is no wrong,
no difference between
the screams and songs,
as I sit here, in the summer sun,
waiting for a sign, unhung,
that everything,
the way it is,
is how it is supposed to be.

The premise for the poem "Mankind's creation"

I'm condemning everybody, by the way.

Reading the poem before reading the explanation is encouraged, but not mandatory.

Yes; the poem "Mankind's Creation" is a social commentary.

It references the shooting at the Holocaust Memorial Museum, the giant statues of Buddha's in Afghanistan, suicide bombers, rocket launchers, grenade lob-ers, throwers of rocks, the Middle East, South East Asia, and so many other places. People who abandon their responsibilities, rapists, liars, confidence artists, the people who stand by the sidelines and witness all of this, sadists and masochists, users, addicts, self defacers, those who corrupt innocence and plant seeds of violence and hatred.

It has taken me seventeen years to realize that I have been a witness to a war zone my entire life. I was a less than a decade old when the Towers were felled, the first time in my life that I could feel the fear, so palatable. I don't remember the years much, anymore. The bus and subway bombings in London, shootings at Community Centers and schools (colleges, primary, secondary,) gang symbols, drug trafficking, human trafficking, abuse- emotional, verbal, physical, sexual. Hate, in so many different forms, insidious, sneaking into our minds, poisoning our thoughts. Darfur, where genocide rears its nasty head, countries that rule by god, others whose rules deny god and forbid god. Ideas, ideals, conflicting wants and desires, the need to be right, to have status- This is what drives the human race. This is what destroys us. I hope it is not to late.

Mankind's creation

My god,
How beautiful.
To think that everything
may once have had
a fighting chance.

How terribly devastating-
that someone will come to a memorial
to kill, to kill and be killed.
That history is blown to shards,
and people of one earth bomb each other-
at weddings,
at funerals,
at school,
in the night.
Parents who leave children,
without rhyme, reason, or a word.
They who take the body of another
for their own selfish means,
those who smile as someone else is torn apart,
those who stand by,
in the blood of their nation,
in the blood of their friend.
The ones who do nothing,
the ones who lie,
the ones who introduce strange chemicals to their flesh,
to escape reality,
while their fantasy destroys them.
The ones who burn their own bodies,
draw their own blood,
take their own lives.
Who teach their children,
their progeny,
to hate others:
for god,
for land,
for race,
for color-
and give rise to the saying:
"There will be peace here,-
when they love their children
more than they hate us."

God damn those who glorify in death;
destruction.
There is nothing beautiful there,
a desolate wasteland
of mankind's creation,
a vacuum,
like a hole in the heart,
without a second chance.

Wish

All I wish
is that I shall be
forever able
to recognize
each and every one
of you from afar
and that the beauty
and elegance of
your movements
will not be marred by age.

This is not a desire
for the stagnation of time
nor is it a refusal to change.

As I sit outside,
within a sky-ceilinged box,
I stare out
to the inside
and watch all of your beautiful faces,
and animated selves
and this makes me tremble,
engulfed by thoughts of
what may come.

Intuition is not really reliable
and a hunch is only,
only a hunch.
But there are somethings
that I may wish for
and only sometimes,
very rarely,
very, very rarely
do these wishes
even come close
to coming true.

the recurrence of forever

I watched the sun set its self down,
far beyond the trees-
Who knows what the future will bring?

Everything is coming down,
everyone is fading out.
What will remain after all of this?

After the journeys' course is run,
and we are laid to rest,
who is it that we remember
and who is it we dare forget?

The sights, unseen,
the sleepless nights,
waiting for a helping hand,
waiting for the light.

With acknowledgement
comes strength of spirit.
With reconciliation,
a sense of worth is found.

When the future shows its face
I would like to face it with you

A remainder, a remnant of love and faith

a remembrance of times past

and the recurrence of forever

Pisces

I'm just a sitting duck
out in the open
waiting
ready
for you to take your shot
and knowing
that you
with your perfect
(precise aim)
leaden bullet
drawing blood from above my heart
will take me down
yes, there is no more resistance
crumpled
and ragged
and bound
like a buoy
or a boat
or a fish, its tail to an other's
inevitable
like the end of the world
or you and I
my acquiescence
is like water rejoining itself
and I sink
like a stone
with the bubbles rising
in ribbons
to the light
until I reach the bottom
and settle in to this fate
tied to you
by strings I cannot see
but know are there

green and silver

painting the world outside silver and green,
as I sit, watching the rain stream down
and the streets flood
like my heart
or my smile floods my face.
This silver beaten lullaby begs me to rest,
just one moment longer,
a solitary second of stolen relaxation,
swept away like the debris in the gutter,
as I hit replay for other people's dreams.
silver beads slide down, slowly, on telephone wires
and these things I am afraid of-
I will not admit or deny them,
but I will know what is there for me to remember.
It is only a thought that has been suppressed one million times prior
to the actual event of our invention,
but there is a hope for this love,
renewed by the thought of your eyes and attention.
I do not expect blue skies for a while now,
I dread that, secretly, deep in my heart,
that when the sun shines again,
I will still be sitting here,
waiting.

a basis for everything

within this house,
we shut out the light,
the heat
Filled with our old air,
a darkness,
a coolness,
ensconces we inhabitants
the aversion,
ghostly humans
walking past each other
with ne'er a spoken word.
aching bodies and running noses'
the external fairy dust and
flowers
grass
and rich dirt
that toes sink into
like plush carpet, or quick sand
which will not take the ones who lie supine
but the ones who stand,
bipedal,
human,
yes, we'll keep going down,
keep going down.
and the farther we go,
the deeper it gets,
the faster we go,
like water draining out,
or rolling down a hill,
throwing up clouds of petals and of pollen
and insects
until we come to a rest at the base of everything,
a towering pillar of green
that we close out from our lives
with the blinds
turned
shut.

elegy to the spoken and unspoken word

if i do not say what i need to say,
when it need be said
what happens to the words, unspoken,
fallen soldiers, like the dead?

Floating out into some great void,
asking for directions, lost...
will they be of use some day,
or mould like spring in frost?

could it be that they are saved,
for some greater speech to come?-
or could they be unused forever,
the mouth eternal dumb.

And what of the words,
spoken like a fountain,
filling up the days of man,
with shadow like a mountain?

is there a landfill for such abuse,
to recycle it, make it better?
or does it sit like highway trash?-
O, bold, forgotten letter.

misgivings fraught with fear

because you should have this-
this beauty spilling forthing, brimming
drowning out the sorrow\memory is whited water
pushing us down
you don't ever forget this promise
you will never forget (my na)me
it's spilling over like dream turned nightmare
turned fantasy turned drawn reality
like sunlight and freedom
winding over smoothed pebbles
reflecting summers image
the grass let long to grow
the misgivings fraught with fear
abdulations
and you(')r(e) success.

the cherry tree

in the air i see surrounding me
all the lights reflecting
in this spring snow shower
the cherry trees shed the white
fluttering,
fleeting,
flying,
free.
and everything we choose to be
is questioned by the apathy,
the entropy.
i want to say that i am free
i want to be eternity.
the cherry tree,
it will turn green,
sepals, stamens, and carpals
turning red.
the seed
the flesh
the stem
the petioles
the blade
all these parts that make the tree
building up the bluest sky
the whitest petals
force us to see

there are somethings we cannot be

there are some sites we cannot see

and now and again we cannot agree

what it is we will save
or liberate
or designate,
set aside
pretend to be
i can't decide
what I should be
and what is this falling before me?
petals snow salt sugar lies
erasing the ground on which we stand
whiting out the new green land

the cherry petals are raining down
and the light is like blindness
for every solitary thing i see
there is a little more that i am missing.

Whispered words

I could make you believe anything,
take you to the edge of everything,
and bring the world to its collective knees for you,
if only you'd let me,
if only you'd allow yourself the acknowledgement
of forever.

My immortal soul is standing on the crest of the known universe
looking down on these galaxies,
hurtling away from them at unknown velocities,
concentrating on your emancipation,
your heartbreak,
your feint.

Celestial winds whisper words unworthy of the
hand that held the help,
the face that belied the mercy of all of them,
so high above the ground,
"You don't believe in me."

The air was like a cut,
and the sun was just another star,
as time floated away,
and boomeranged back to me
at unprecedented speeds
and the blur
is all I can see anymore.

fix yourself

I am not the one whom you search for
playing silence
wishing for a darker, more conservative appeal
the way everything falls out
I feel
almost as though I cannot be real
because everything that I am given to is but a dream
the dedication and the sweat
and the acrid scent of rain
waiting is a joke
journeys are imagined
trails
winding through your mind
what you are looking for is already there
what I am is a self deficiency
patching up the holes and tears
created by a desperation
if you are looking for it, it is not there,
If it cannot be found,
then what do I care?
I'll spell it out.
only you can find yourself
and only you can see the deficiency
and it's a leak only you can fix
but until then

drip

d
..r
....i
.....p

d
r
i
p
.

Proteins Denatured

Watching proteins denature
Brings on a strange feeling
Of guilt and necessity.
That which was once clear
Is no longer,
What once was fluid
No longer flows.
Sometimes the static fills my head
In the late hours of the night
The words are illuminated
And are almost aflame
And the proteins denatured
Are the fuel to my fire
And my latent, deep-seated ire
Barricades me from sleep.
The stolen lives
That fuel my own:
Have chickens ever been greater than man?
And has one man ever been
Better than another?
What lends to this caste system-
Arbitration or skill?
Some combination thereof
Makes the differentiation
Between the heroes and the fools.
A formula of so many variables;
It’s impossible to tell.
But the denaturation of proteins
Is merely the application of heat:
The slow frying of eggs
Late at night.

wait and linger

Condescension and repression
waiting around, concussed
inflection making everything into a threat
sick waiting,
sick of playing
concentration, never ready
don't you see, don't you see
the one you want cannot be me

what do you want
how can you know
everything that i hide,
that i abide by
can't you see, can't you see
the one you want, it is not me

where are we
oh can't you see
the things you want,
they are not free
so why wait and linger
there is no cost
when you leave
and when you're lost
won't you see, won't you see
the things you want,
they are not free

would you say that you are free?
do you believe in what you see?
the one you want, it is not me
and while you decide to fight or flee;
the one you want
it is not me

To fall away

Every day another something falls away,
and I cannot, ever, seem to say
That I wish for it to remain, to stay.

Every damned moment, hark,
these ones who've dwelt within the dark,
'tis not your soul they wish to mark.
and 'tis not your ears in which they bark,
"Every day another something falls away."

The gravity will not relent,
even when all resistance's spent,
and the scream torn from your throat is rent,
"Don't fall away, don't fall away."

Once on the coldest winter's night,
the dark rang out with sounds of fight,
and there was only wrong, and nothing right
and the angels begged until their flight,
"Don't fall away, don't fall away."

Through the shining, shining snow,
as only you would ever know
about where it is that we all go,
when they say, "Don't fall away, don't fall away."

It took an honest man to lie,
and for me to see a child cry,
while everyone waits, to see Death die,
and for all the poets to dare to sigh,
to understand, to fall away.