Up from deprivation, I’ll begin, to raise thee,
To my contemplation, I have seen, to pull thee,
By my regret, I have not been, to free thee,
From a slumber, from a pain, from a madness
That should only, be known, to me.
Why should thou feel, when I am only, to suffer?
Such confuses me,
Whenever I see thee,
Born with tears, pasted against, thy worn cheeks,
And so many tunes, that come as weeps.
Why much sorrow, when the world stands, seemingly true?
Denial is but a virtue, so that pain, no longer surrounds.
We are, in vain, nested, in pain,
Not by darker moments,
But by willingness, to express it.
Why much tears, enough to flood plains, with their wetness?
I find no meaning, in their existence.
I fail to see, thy complexion,
As anything, but tied to water,
And the great ocean, that surrounds, thy lips.
I have offered kisses, to quell thy mourning,
Of what, such a future, of disaster, may bring down
Upon thy quivering and aching form.
Let us, make us, miserable no longer,
What will pleasure, come as,
As birds, where we fly, with wings broken, like deadened gulls,
That have, met a storm, to bring them down.
Let us weep no longer,
No more, the feeling, of sorrow, of remembrance, to guilt,
We are living, in our dreams, in our oceans
When we, should be, living in arms.