Eliot (cirrhosis) wrote in poetry4healing,
Eliot
cirrhosis
poetry4healing

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"Untitled"


She’s got the look
Of a man who’s been around
And hasn’t got much to say
But things aren’t quite the way
They used to be

What if God could love
As lovers bury themselves
What if our love was God
To breathe and wither as we do
To fade and deny ourselves
As we do

Bewildered skies become aroused
When harnessed on such wild seas
What could this seed really mean to me?

She’s hooked on sight
She’s never seen a day in light
But for all she’s concurred
She’s not all she could be
Or used to be

What if God could love
As lovers bury themselves
What if our love was God
To breathe and wither as we do
To fade and deny ourselves
As we do

Preparing for death on her brow
She’s lost upon her own sovereignty
What could this seed really mean to me?


This is what the thunder said
Through gritted teeth
What was whispered to my ears
From mouths of lunatics
This is the love song
On the edge of insanity
The brink of your youth
You can’t turn back
You can’t turn back

Although bedamned she flies
Riding on doven innocence
The speed of sight has been known
To murder on midnights like this
It’s best she slows down

Here is where her story’s told
Of prime praying peers
Infected with such happy death
As azure as it were
What could have been
But never wasn’t hers
The brink of her growth
She won’t turn back
She won’t turn back

Although bedamned she flies
Riding on doven innocence
The speed of sight has been known
To murder on midnights like this
It’s best she slows down


This unrequited love
What’s it mean to be someone
Who isn’t what you were
It’s all but true love
So it used to be

What if God could love
As lovers bury themselves
What if our love was God
To breathe and wither as we do
To fade and deny ourselves
As we do

Of all the miles in her bones
Her favorite is the one she can’t feed
What could this seed really mean to me?


Seamlessly beginning to deliver a message, the young man walks upon the thin ice of which he borrowed. He wasn’t supposed to see the writing written on the blank card, and he knew this rule to be the most important. But the curious nature of which he was a passive follower took hold of the boy’s eyes. And now, he can’t help but see the writing everywhere. And now, he can’t leave his dreams.

And now, the boy is imperfect.
And now, the boy is flawless
And now, the boy believes
And now, the boy is damned
And now, the boy is damned

For the demons striking in his heart
All he began to promise unfolds
But as hard as he never tried
He finds it wasn’t quite so free
And he listens for echoes in the wind
Only to hear a familiar voice
Telling him to wear his coat
‘Cause it gets cold at night

And this time around
He swore it wasn’t over
And this time around
He swore he wasn’t alone
And this time around
He swore it wasn’t over
But this time around
Never came

And popping beneath his surface
Lies the youth he left behind
The spiders of his perfection
Protecting his lamenting heart
And he listens for echoes in the wind
Only to hear a familiar voice
Telling him to wear his coat
‘Cause it gets cold at night

And this time around
He swore it wasn’t over
And this time around
He swore he wasn’t alone
And this time around
He swore it wasn’t over
But this time around
Never came

What could this seed really mean to me?

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