As beautiful as it is to cry,
It cuts so softly so much deeper
Since I gave up faking
And started listening to your whisper
Its smoother going down
But gets me so much faster now,
Those feelings that I'd missed
And that I pretended missed me somehow
Could I ever be loved as completely
As the honesty of your sincerest introspection?
Mortality and eternity,
Subjects so situated in time
That occupy my emptiness
The way I wish I was admired.
Could I fill your mind
And terrify your sense of being
In such a way as to change
The reality of your inner quiet?
People are like night skies,
Shifting their position and meaning,
So when you gaze at me
I hope you think of what you’re not seeing.
We are mysterious and complicated things,
Too important for casual recognition,
And if I’m ever to be loved again
It must be worth our fullest attention.
Five wolf pups sleeping soundly,
Dreaming fantasies to dull their pains.
Every morning they woke to play
With new defenses in their brains.
They dreamed of screamed beratement,
Careless running through the trees,
Getting lost in friendless spaces,
Or simply flying away, free.
Fears and desires breed
The strangest images in wolf pup heads,
The seeds of future habits
They’ll follow, fight, and feed.
Meantime, another day for playing
Running on in spite of what they’ve seen.
I don’t know why,
But cruelty always lived in that town.
Maybe it was in the water,
Regularly dosing the inhabitants
As it was swallowed every day.
Perhaps it was under the influence
Of some madness inducing parasite,
Indifferent to it’s casualties.
Or maybe it was cursed
By the remnant of some spirit,
Exercising wrath against the living.
Or maybe it was just cruel.
All I know,
Is that it was hardly innocent.
Behind the pleasant persona
Of a quaint woodland town
Lurked a sea of illness,
Brutallity, and active hate.
To walk the streets
Was to be exposed
To those who stalk the weak
For hardly any cause at all.
Stories of random beatings,
Robberies, and rape
Would circulate so often
To be an ever-present rule.
The real law evident to all,
Was the Melian Dialogue.
Never spoken, but even so,
Obvious to all who saw.
Small town America,
Christianity and moral life,
Those superfical platitudes applied
So heavily to disguise
The ever-present disscordance
Dancing before their eyes.
The same persons clamoring
For prayers in church gatherings
Walk out continuing
To prey on one another.
Maybe it’s the water,
Some parastie, or spirit.
Maybe it’s a culture
Of sickness they inherit.
I don’t know
What caused the place
To be the way it is,
But cruelty lives there
And all do as it bids.