Its the malice that really hurts,
and we've tried to built the moat,
and i guess its like rivers to the sea,
the walls falling in on me...
so the sacrifice is my survival,
but when we roam within the walls of our trivial,
our mid-evil, we become what we don't want to see.
and its the malice that burns,
and what we will never know.
and when digging is building,
the river nears the sea.
and we know the end is not the beginning,
and the beginning is not the start,
finally and forever, just to breathe is the sacrifice.
and through the tales of a scorched earth we learn,
we don't ever lose life,
we confess our misdirected, and find:
its the malice that really hurts,
its the blame that really burns.
its the judgement that creates the spark
and to stay warm, and protect the fire,
we build our moat,
its the malice that really hurts.
the desperation that really burns.
the defenselessness that breaks us,
the simplicity of what we become.
the walls fall in, and one is one.
we give you back.
in solitude and in silence;
we love what you've become.
its better in the end.
we wont hide behind the wall.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Despite perfect passion,
this vessel is sinking in the sea.
A picture perfect drama; holy water or holy lies?
And if the darkness of these dreams,
might force an awakening for me,
I would dive right in and fall asleep,
and be the darkest waters sweet release.
Complete: and willing to be, a temptress to the beast.
Eyes half mast I would sleep.
~ Joseph Bloomquest