Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dawn, withheld.

I write sordid tragedies while you wander twisting city streets in search of optimism--

Despair, Unfaithful, ye who hath left me here as thou comest to discover darkness.

Liars, liars, everywhere, and not one to believe

that faith presides in darkness

and hope dwells in the pitch.

my unfamiliar friend,

forgive the blind rage,

infectious anger

-- these are what I cannot control.

And what I could bear to lose

for news of your unfaithful actions.

They told me you stopped by their corner,

bathed in amber lamplight,

shining like a ghost.

They told me you were irredeemable,

unstable,

intended for elsewhere, as I called out your name.

Oh, haunted one,

did you not hear the vibrations on the thick summer air?

and the waves that pierced the winter cold?

They mocked me,

my blind faith

and reckless soul-

I should never have dared this city enter,

nor dare I fall tempted to a promise and a lie.

Why did you not return?

No saving grace before you,

Oh, darkness,

Hast thou forgotten what is meant by withholding dawn?

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