Now we speak the tune
As it draws close to attentive ears,
Among all our waning years,
Failure upon our cold and scarred shoulders,
The tune of how a clock ticks
Each passing, miserable moment
To a barren winter.
I have been in love for a while,
Until I have drawn so close to emptiness.
Misery is always a comfort
And a reminder,
A little thing grown so heavy,
Like one tiny child in arms
Becoming the remembered adult.
I have raised it well,
This body of now an old shape.
I leave winter to die behind in my tracks,
I leave a beloved to hear me weep.
My fingers claw at the flesh to my face,
And my eyes weep tears of purest silver,
Until I want to be no more.
Come close, dear woman,
The most beautiful of them all.
Have you known what you’ve done?
Have you seen,
The scars upon my heart and arms,
Are heavy in their carrying.
The clock at our feet,
Has an alarm to awake
Me from this tempest,
Though, it moves too slow.