The sun cannot repair the damage of the night,
the silences between your smile and mine;
the focus of our desperate thoughts and dreams,
the shattered wisdom of our ancient sapience;
for now we dance upon a field of tears
in the twilight of this world of dust;
two deadly members of that hated race,
remembering the frozen and forgotten days of rage.
We’ve danced and danced these fatal strategies,
under the southern clime of this intrepid fallacy;
no longer can we turn away, nor isolate this slice of banishment;
instead we wander here among the lonely tribes, mere semblances
dispatched to air and wind, circling the blackened circuits of the falling stars;
where in the underbelly of their fractured lights
we squander truth and live on our inhuman flights –
the interludes of pain and joy, the captured intervals of lost years;
when once we lived among the lauded tears of paradise,
before the fears of time fell from our deathly songs, slaying happiness.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2016 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.