Holy Love Song

 You fought it, hard.

Hardly enough, to be honest.

It was an honest attempt,

But we got lost in the sonnet.

-

Too special to be cool,

Too right to be a fool,

Too fast to be this long.

-

They laugh at us as we sing along,

They knew it all along,

But never were we wrong.

-

The humour inset in our beliefs,

All along we longed,

To be against the perfect storm.

We were never too old to be this young.

-

I’m sorry it wasn’t late enough,

 To hold me back from,

This pro-longed longing,

 For our holy love song.

Lain upon the dire

Nesting again,

Lain in the dire.

How many times,

Till I can retire?

-

Up, upon foot,

Resting on frantic bones.

Hollowed by the centre,

Draining all once owned.

-

Never beating alive,

Heart-ached to death.

Shallow in its depths,

Of its instinctual favour.

-

Lying upon perpetual distress,

Sinking through its passing layers.

Futile knots tying together,

All that which I cannot sever.

 

Sure-enough path to get lost upon

She didn’t know that

the path that she had once walked upon -

Steadfast and strong; never deviating -

Was the same as the one

that she was now walking upon.

Unaware, that whilst being wrong,

it was right all along;

There had never been dictated a more

Sure-enough path to get lost upon.

An Angel cries tears of darkness

Never again will she be lost -

She is working through it all;

Conquering that steadfast persistence -

Enough said, she will not do it again.

-

It had never been like this before.

She was completely new to the game.

It had welcomed her with open arms,

Now it had trapped her beneath it’s weight.

But never before the darkness stirs.

She sleeps with her eyes open,

Never a see-er of the truth until the dark.

Wrapped up in bubbled-wrap,

Flirting with disaster,

Flying past any mirrors -

She cant feel what she cant see.

-

Flapping her turgid wings,

She’s getting nowhere that she desires.

Fragile beauty will never last -

Lying in her broken truth,

Suffocated by her own fire -

She’s lost without verve.

-

Don’t let her know,

That she already knows.

Don’t tell her the truth,

She’ll only deny knowing it.

Hide it from her – than she’ll try to seek it,

But never, never before the darkness stirs.