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Beautiful, broken things
Look at us--beautiful, broken things
Shards of countless vessels
Looking for pieces to mend...
And create something to hold water again
(Because who has not been shattered, unmade, or undone?)
Then comes the understanding:
Mighty oaks become weeping willows--
No longer shelter with outstretched boughs to hold me,
But fragile creatures
Swaying to breezes I cannot feel,
Reaching toward rivers I cannot see
We keep our heads above water
Until the sinking freefall
Carries us to settle on the bottom
Like sighs beneath the sea
With all that is lost
This. This is mortality.
And mortality is never distracted,
So my beacons are dimming--
Myloves and poets, artists and troubadours
Are in danger of being extinguished
By the storm:
Please defy humanity
And stay with me a while longer,
This. This is reality.
These things I know.
I am a prophet of the past--
A frantic wisdom I despise
Living just behind my eyes
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