“Light is there”

The crucifying curve of dying moon

My soul screams in its mouth

It pierces my throat with the pale flickering of its thin form

And I find my voice walking on the pyre of hopes

But there’s a name 

It can salve the wounds

It can maim the big body of darkness

There’s a touch which can gouge the blindness of dreams

I’ve to con my way to that immortality

To nourish my thoughts 

To heal my tiredness

I want a morsel of beloved’s touch, 

a feather of his blessed kiss 

The silence coats my tongue with its sandpapery taste

This knowing has become a thorny noose 

And you know;

This waning moon smells like a butcher’s knife

I’m a lonesome tree in the desert of its cruel smile

Though my pride is adamant

My crown shivers for the nakedness of fear

My heart could burn the forests of questions

Yet the hell of distance can’t be doused by tears

Though my certitude, my answers are meagre 

In a contrite starved shape of inescapable love

Light is there

Light is there 


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