(Post Your) Incredible Poems (Here!)

[tylerni7]

I wrote this in 9th grade (heh only two years ago silly highschool...) but it totally kicks ass:

Jack left Earth at four-fifths c
To the star Proxima Centauri.
His sister, three years younger,
Was shocked when her brother
Came back one year older than she.

If I remembered the numbers right, it all worked out relativistically.

[ChocloManx]

I wrote some haikus. (They make more sense/sound better in spanish)

A kid sits down
And anachronically
eats some ice cream.

Don't make me suffer
cause of your thong
noo.

They walk out of the temple
and one of them takes
his cow.

It smells bad
but I don't care
because I eat cake.

[Nero]

Three poems!

Triptych part 1: Shimmer

When I first saw him
He shimmered.

He smiled as if he had taken starlight
And poured it into a bowl
And drunk it
With salt and lemon like tequila
Only more intoxicating.
He shimmered.

I bought him champagne
With strawberries and condensation
Clinging to the flute
His eyelashes fluttered
As the bubbles drifted up his nose
Pink lips pursed on crystal
He delicately placed his hand on my arm
In a small show of gratitude
I blushed.
He shimmered.

As I pushed the shirt from his shoulders
To drip into a silk puddle on the floor
I knew this could never be a love story
As he lowered his eyes
Ashamed
I knew we could have no happy ending
And as he fell asleep
His tousled head on crisp linen
I remembered all that shimmers brightest
Burns out first.

He shimmered.


Triptych part 2: In the Sun

I watched him in the sun
Barefoot on rippling grass
While I sat on his t-shirt
Beneath a sprawling tree.
The sun shone gold
On the bones in his back
And the sound of cars
And children yelling
Faded from my ears.
It was just him.

I was sure I couldn't be watching him
Give up on his life.
Give up on the music he coaxed from his guitar
And on the picnics we had on the living room floor
Give up on the sun
And the grass
And the sky that shone in his eyes.

Around and around he spun
With his arms out
And his eyes open.
I didn't need to see anything wrong
To know that something was
I ran to him.
The world slowed and he still spun
As his insides began to pour out his nose
Crimson
Viridian
I ran faster
But he fell before I could catch him.


Triptych part 3: Pieces

As he slipped the hospital band
From his emaciated wrist
He told me he was free now
And I could take him home.

I wrapped him in his pink jacket
The one he swore wasn't gay
But magic.
And carried him
From the hospital to the car
And from the car to his bed
Watched over by a fat Buddha
Who waved in sharp relief
To his figure lying below.

He weighed the same as a few autumn leaves
His insides eaten away by his sickness.

He said he wanted to be
Surrounded by his things
Which meant more to him
Than the people he couldn't touch.

The cloak pins, on the aerial of the TV
To improve reception.
His pillow covered with badges
From places he'd never been
Montreal, Berlin, New Caledonia.
The pile of school annuals my uncle gave him
That he read when he was merely sick
Now propping up bottles of pills.
The hat from the party we held to celebrate
The 21st birthday he would never reach.
The clockwork dog, in lieu of a real pet
Lying beside him on the bed
His fingers without the strength to wind it.

I knelt among this plethora of things
Holding his hand
And blinking back non-existent tears.

Once his breathing had levelled out
Into a soft plane of nothingness
I pushed the wedding ring I could have never given him
Deeper into my pocket.

[blackeye]

filled with air and dying

words for lovers, written but never read
the extension of the void fills my head
as tears of rainbow sorrow pour magic down to shed
wings that are spread are felt hot and heavy
listen to sounds that seem so plenty
feel the motion of mechanics
lone, one, notta, ten to one
zippp you're on the ground
laying face down wondering
why has the shore line increased in depth
dealt with, not so hard. control
astronautical plots and graphs
dropped out of my head
like threads of woven silk
the different colors are mesmerizing make me cry
I'm crying for the felt tip marker of the 14th
how, now, do?
ticking silently, silver spoons explode in mouths of children
biting them where the heavens flaunt and flirt with hell
still stuck here listening to wedding bells
still stuck here reading fairy tales
Oh Tolkien, spark emotion
the revoltion felt and sung
heard from mountain tops, my lungs
FILLED WITH AIR AND DYING

[Nimz]

Okay, so I was a bad person and made another 'share youre poems' style thread. I didn't use the search button. Mea culpa and all that. (In my defense, though, it was in another forum. This is my first time even looking at the A/L forum Of course, that completely negates my defense.)

I was digging through some of my physics notes from 6-8 years ago and found some poems I wrote on pi day 2001. Next to each of the poems I wrote down the date and time. The current me finds this amusing. Here's what I wrote 6 1/2 years ago:

The Real World
I've seen that world that no eye ever sees.
It's hidden beneath the deepest stone
Yet it rears its head above the mountains.
Like the air we breate and live in
This world of mine is not just mine--
It encompasses us all about. Within us,
Without us, moving through us at the speed of light.
Nevertheless, we can catch it if we seek it.
(between 11:00 and 11:20 pm 3-14-01)
^^ The only one I gave a title

The deep blue beauty past an intimidating grey sky
Makes me long to ascend those heights and learn how to fly.
(11:23-11:28 pm 3-14-01)

The dark odors of miscellany haunt me today.
I'm surprised the closet doors have held
as long as they have. Two years ago I
faced the same daunting task--it took all day.
That last time I faced this I foolishly yelled,
"Why must I clean my closet? I ask you, WHY!?"
(11:31-11:39 pm 3-14-01)

When learning a foreign language one must first
learn the syntax and grammar before
one can attempt to read and write its poetry.
Mathematics is such a language.
With arithmatic as the syntax and
algebra as the grammer
Geometry and Calculus are the poetry.
(11:40-11:47 pm 3-14-01)

I know "arithmatic" and "grammer" are misspelled (probably not on purpose). It's not the best analogy, but meh. I was still a teen then. The style and subject matter vary quite a bit within that hour of writing.

I haven't written any new poetry in years, unfortunately. Maybe I'll get around to doing more of it in the near future.

[morejolli]

The title is "-verse" and the only punctuation comes from capital letters. I registered here just for this thread so here's hoping my poetry doesn't suck. You guys are amazing!

Code: Select all

Rending
Twisting
All-creating
It’s your embrace I’m ever-waiting

God is life                               the end is beautiful
God is the senses                         feel Him always
God is emotion                            driven by them
God is in the mind                        infinite

Time is not mine to spend
a passageway – now is the only constant
Pass through
                                          and
through                                   to now
and now
                                          -the ever-changing constant

Infinite changes                          The wait was never truly there
God is driven by them                     The end is no end
I must spend time
to pass through is to miss

Life
The senses
Emotion
                                          twisting through the mind
Ever changing means infinite possibility  God is…
The only constant is a lack of constancy  God is…
Nothing is constant                       God is…

except for now
                                          and now
and now


[Verator]

Nothing Left Worth Dying For

Slowly slipping
Knowing I don't quite fit.
One day we're the same,
The next you're playing a different game.
Your tune changes,
We're out of sync,
off to find another mate.

I find another,
He's like a brother,
But then I see right through his cover,
We're really not the same.

I keep playing this game,
All I want is to be the same.
To be part of something,
To know that I belong.
To know there's someone like me out there,
That I'm not the only one.

Another day,
Another face.
She comes so close,
But then I see how it would end,
Before it's truly begun.

I keep playing this game,
All I want is to be the same.
To be part of something,
To know that I belong.
To know there's someone like me out there,
That I'm not the only one.

I'm sick of the searching,
I'm sick of the games,
I'm sick of all the pretense and lies.
I'm sick of the effort, the flirting, the pain,
I'm sick of trying to be happy again.

Older by many years than my body says I am,
I'm out of place in this forsaken land.
What happened to valor, to justice, to love.
Where went the chivalry, the honor, the trust.

We all say we're in love when really it's lust,
True love it seems died and turned to dust.
Why can't I go to my neighbor and call him a brother,
Why can't I see any countryman and know him a friend.

Ideas are dead,
Our actions are pointless,
One's word means nothing,
There's no longer any truth.
Why bother thinking,
It's easier to be led,
Why bother with dealing,
It's simpler to be dead.

I keep playing this game,
All I want is to be the same.
To be part of something,
To know that I belong.
To know there's someone like me out there,
That I'm not the only one.

I keep playing this game,
All I want is to be the same.
To be part of something,
To know that I belong.
To know there's someone like me out there,
That I'm not the only one.
To know there's something greater,
Something which I could die for and know I didn't choose wrong.

Been gone for a while, so this is my return post.

[pxc]

I really liked the first one Tank (Can I call you Tank? ). The second one is great too, but I think the word 'popping' just doesn't fit well. Also, I think the alliteration in the last line is a bit excessive.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think I can just about pin down the use of simple words to create vivid imagery. Not that many people see my poems...


As these orbs dance,
To the unheard melody of Creation,
Sung far beyond our comprehension,
By those celestial.

Dancing through the Void,
Watched by distant Gods,
Caressed by barren light,
Trapped by the laws.

They swing,
and they circle
and they never stop.

Our failure and our folly,
Our efforts and our empires,
Are as whispers in the dark.

All our joys, and all our sorrows,
Ring silent in their domain.

The orbs dance on.

(You get +1 perception if you can tell me what it's about)

Fire that Lucifer would envy.
Jets of light the angels would covet.
Fiery cord, clung tight to his bride.
Bride dances, her partner Abyss.
Eventually unite, in dark, in atom.
Without her, he wails to hostile quiet.
No more destruction, no fire, no light.
In dark and in cold, neither angel nor demon does yearn;
His beauty in destruction.

(This time you get +100 if you get it right)

It's about outer space, the planets, stars, and finally a black hole.

What's my prize?

[pxc]

A STUDY IN SELF-DEPLETION (assignment: to write a villainelle)

You asked me, "What do you have left to give?"
I took your face into my hands, and then
I kissed you once for every year you lived.

You spoke to me, seemingly to misgive
My love. I felt your doubt when, yet again,
You asked me, "What do you have left to give?"

"My dear," I said, "these lips you can't outlive.
I yield, just to you, my personal Amen."
I kissed you once for every year you lived.

Those next few seconds, I'd hate to relive:
I realized you spurned what you couldn't spend.
You asked me, "What do you have left to give?"

And you'd spent it all. Water through the sieve.
Desperate for love's crumbs, down to my last ten,
I kissed you once for every year you lived.

But that's the type of thing you won't forgive;
You knew you depleted me, because when
You asked me, "What do you have left to give?"
I kissed you once for every year you lived.

I love this one. It sounds nice, and it's very poignant.

A NIGHT AMONG MANY (exactly twenty lines)

Collectively, they're one hundred thirty years old.
The dishes were quietly dripping on the rack,
the refrigerator hummed its chilled hum,
and the hooting owl kept watch over all.
"Sleep will come soon enough," he thought.
He turned to her, though creakily,
on this temperate spring night, and whispered,
as he had in their newlywed bed,
"There'll be three types of days, I reckon:
days when I simply love you,
days when I absolutely adore you,
and there'll be some days, like this one,
when I want to forsake everything else
and burn incense in your name."
Their fingertips touched in the dark.
Somewhere, the gray calico purred.
"What happened on the other types of days?"
She could see his gentle smile,
even enveloped by deep, country dark.
"When those days happen, I'll let you know."

I'm not gonna lie, but that one just struck me as cheesy.

CIRCULAR LOGIC ("just write anything")

I am from dust.
Dust rises from my hands, knees, and legs.
Legs wobble as they hold my weight for the first time.
Time plods on in the schoolroom.
Room is what I need. Quit smothering me, Dad.
"Dad" is what she calls me now.
Now we'll need a bigger home.
Home and hearth are all ours since they left.
Left to my own devices since she passed on.
On and on the world unfolds, and now left behind, the infinitesimal I.
I am dust.

I dig.

The rest weren't particularly striking to me.

Really loved the first one, though!

[parkaboy]

(its very short. i may expand later)

I never thought laundry
would cause such a fuss
until I tried to wash a shirt
that still smelled like us.

[Ren]

I like it just like that, pocra.
Less is more.

[shinybaby]

i like it too! it's simple, and it still evokes a lot of emotions and memories. kudos!

[lesliesage]

with a roguish stare
he fastened an amber snare
entangled, I smile

[pollywog]

apocralypse and Nero, your poems are both beautiful.

apocralypse, I love the pathos inspired by such a short single stanza. You don't need to expand it, it's already great.

Nero,

As I pushed the shirt from his shoulders
To drip into a silk puddle on the floor
I knew this could never be a love story
As he lowered his eyes
Ashamed
I knew we could have no happy ending
And as he fell asleep
His tousled head on crisp linen
I remembered all that shimmers brightest
Burns out first.

He shimmered.

this is one of the best pieces of poetry I've seen in a long time. Keep at it.

[Reckless]

Born Too Late
3/11/07
by Alex Berberich

I’ve got an airplane, a 65-horsepower biplane, made in 1943.
It doesn’t know how to share the sky with Southwest.
We want grass fields,
But everywhere we fly it’s concrete, cold and heartless asphalt.

I am Charles Lindbergh, stuck in the era of the Concorde,
The era of businessmen too busy to realize the vastness of the ocean below, too preoccupied to notice the beauty of the view out the cabin window.

I’m a map-reader, in the time of Global Positioning Satellites.
The time when nobody gets lost anymore, and people find exactly what they’re looking for, the perverted time when the destination has somehow become more important than the traveling.

I am a crop-duster for family farms, in the age of ultra-conglomerates without a soul.
They drove Mom and Pop off into suburbia, they bought them out and now robots spray the food with chemicals, robot sprayers for robot sellers and robot buyers.

The neighborhood airplane driver, offering rides out of parks to little kids and couples on picnics for a sum of three dollars,
In a year where that doesn’t cover a gallon of petrol, and everybody complains but nothing is done.

I’m an airmail pilot, when people still took time to send hand-written letters to friends and lovers.

An airship captain,
When every year was good, because we spent them in peace and freedom and in the air and in love.

Those days are over.
Those days may have never existed.

Doesn’t mean I can’t want them back.

I'm starting to think I'm slightly obsessed with the whole flying thing.

[thecommabandit]

It's about outer space, the planets, stars, and finally a black hole.

What's my prize?

DUDE!
I didn't think anyone would get it. Apart from the aforementioned +100 perception (did you level up?) I don't know what else you win. I'd give you an internet or something but I lost mine.

I could write you a poem maybe? =P

[MarshyMarsh]

We had to adapt shakespeare's sonnet 130 into modern context (I slipped a little there) in english yesterday and I came out with this:


My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
F*ck it after 6 pints it doesn't matter anyway.

I got quite a high mark for comedic value.

[Jesse]

I haven't written anything since about August-ish, but I recently fell in love with a lady who deserved poetry and I wrote what may actually be the nest poem I've ever written, and with Danielle's permission I shall post it here.

We talk for hours, Withnail & I.
I share with him my love for you.
Create in converse a covenant
Caught by Burton's camera;
This gothic landscape bathed in light.

Spaced, immerse ourselves in rainbows
Sun cascading on our souls;
Brightening your brilliant eyes,
Birthing a halo in your hair.

Alive again you fly, sweet guillemot
As I, your running man
Discover in my heart a wish that you would not go.

O, I know you must for now, but
Remember the cold water,
Daughter of the blower.
Trust not in rootless trees
And know that we are not scared.

It's just that it's delicate.

[Ren]

Very lovely, Jesse.

It's been a while since I've posted one of mine, so...
The Prophet
What kind of idea are you?
Are you man or mouse?
Your speech has the metre of camel paces
Your voice has the accent of far-off places.

Wonderland, Peristan, Never-Never, Oz,
You came to wrap your wounds in gauze
And found you could not return.
So you preached a revolution:
Of water carriers, of immigrants, of slaves;
Of prophets stowed away in caves.

Realizing your words were less than a farce,
You replaced your tongue with a piece of your arse
Whereupon you wept until
Your tears ran out of salt to cry
And you could do nothing but dream dry-eyed.

Dreamed a drought,
Dreamed destruction,
Dreamed dollars and dimes, days and nights, deities and devils.
Dreamed a revelation for me!
Then you dreamed disillusion and disgust
And I had to disagree

[Jesse]

I disliked it in words, because I could not wrap my head around why your rhyming scheme was off, until you sang it.

Crazy accents.

[Ren]

It is a very song-lyricky poem, really.

[German Sausage]

I think of The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie when I read that last one.

[cricket134]

oh man, this forum just got so much better (which I didn't thinkwas possible) now that I know there's a poetry thread.
wow.

this is a work in progress, recently written. any suggestions on how to better combine/relate sections I and II would be greatly appreciated.

Oragami

I.
paper creases, arms under legs,
knees and elbows twisting in,
enfolding myself line by line,
shrinking triangles 'til straight is curved,
'til wings appear; finger feathers
brush closed eyes, caught and tugging
at my lashes.

slowing breath, cool touches wake
white flight through grey sky
growing darker, roiling, uncoiling,
blowing and battering unsteady wings,
raindrops silent, sound and moisture
absorbed without complaint.
paper to pulp,
return to earth,
dissolving home-
sodden wrinkles becoming flesh,
sopping feathers fade
but heart still beats forgotten wings
trying to stay aloft.

II.
rain clatters to the pavement
ricochets off street signs
scratches paint on parked cars,
scraping through the facade of a perfect world.
flecks of red and black
dissolve and flood the ground
drowning streetlight’s feeble
shifty eyed glimmer.

footsteps whisper to the puddles,
rising water smothers sound,
ripples shimmer overhead where raindrops
shatter on the surface.

each flight up the windows shut
to keep it out,
but like extinguishing a candle in reverse,
from the bottom up,
the lights blink out.

[cricket134]

Went back and read a bunch more poems after posting.
there is some amazing stuff here.

Nero-
your poem gave me chills.
the last few lines especially, about shoving the ring deeper in the pocket.
but the whole thing is a work of art.
wow.

[Dr.Robert]

Here comes some 2AM sleep poetry madness:

Entitled "Trachea"

Imagine nothing
but a stem;
that organic
scepter,
from which
Dawn receives
hope of
a new Dawn.

[pollywog]

Part 1.

We could sit in the sun
drink syrah and stout
rest our feet on a bale of hay

The rush of the world
is no match for country life

Warm green grass,
spring growth. Lambs
and a tin-roofed shed

The rush of the world
is no match for country life

[blackeye]

rest our feet on a bale of hay

The rush of the world
is no match for country life
I stole your prosthetic leg....

[Jesse]

Newly written today, and still untitled:

This was the moment,
Passing undetected by the sleeping millions
Awaking later to find the world unchanged,
Their lives the same.
Not so mine,
Lost as I am in a dialogue of three.
Never before have I come across such words;
Building, destroying and building again.
Brahma and Shiva performing their eternal dance
Between you and I.

This was the scene,
"Of all the bars in all the world."
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"You had me at hello."
But we're no Hollywood,
Replacing lines of love with compromise.
Our happy ending no such thing.

As the credits start to roll,
The tuning A begins to sound.
Awake again I see the source
Played so sweet by one I love.
It beckons harsh, brooks no retreat.
Unable to resist I'm created anew.

Newborn, my life floods past these dams.

Got a raptor for a friend,
Cold-blooded, calm, he gives me hope;
Says life is the goal, not a means to an end.
Hands over a mask to reveal my face
While the fiddler starts her sweet melody once more;
Strings, the soundtrack to this sad sphere.

Yet my sweet guillemot is never far,
And 'maybe someday' doesn't seem so bad
When she's around.

[bbctol]

Showing up without a poem! Just to compliment Jesster's friggin amazing one. Holy crap. Plus, raptor-points.

[The Sleeping Tyrant]

Showing up without a poem! Just to compliment Jesster's friggin amazing one. Holy crap. Plus, raptor-points.

QFT!

Jesster, I give you a metaphorical standing ovation.

[d33p]

I have been perusing this thread, absorbing, for a bit now. I am amazed at some of the work here. Truly. I'll probably PM each poet individually regarding certain lines, when I find minutes. I'm in awe.
So... here's one. And I'll come back for more.

Airlover
Symmetric crimped edges in tin got thrown away,
spun in practiced style;
Bitter whiskey slugs went down (away) with grace.

Newfound trumps repetition anyday.
Face me, aerophile:

It's the comfort, it's the counsel -- it all rakes
as tundra gales could've.

But she was August instead of October. and
several years, several born, severed hours later
every right-on-time season faded /

What happened behind your back turned,
what steely edge slipped in quickly learned --
This is the hand of one slickly burning.
Mine is the grip of suns fickly yearning.

All's belated; find the light rendered
reasonably.
she's not summer anymore

[d33p]

I know double posts are frowned upon, but here's hoping there's leniency in this thread. And here's another:

Gunslinger (or, The Prodigal Returns)
Though it shimmers, it's not diamond -
it's just glass ensconced in tin,
resting on the hand of she who won
the saving of his sin.

Though it glistens, it's not pearls -
it's eyes rolled back into her head
as she dreams of sunken worlds
with kings of dirt and thrones of lead.

Though it glimmers, it's not crystal -
it's the child become a man;
in his fists, two wooden pistols
aimed for heart, and head, and hand.

Though it glitters, it's not silver -
it's a bullet made of bones
that flew quick and true and killed her
when the prodigal came home.

[pollywog]

Nice, though I prefer Airlover. Just a personal opinion.

[Hammer]

Oceans gnaw their shores
At the mere sight of her face
Yet still she rises

[Ren]

...awesome.

I'm jealous of people who can cram lots of imagery into strict form.

[Robin S]

Most of my stuff on DeviantArt is poetry, and much of it is also a bit "emo". I went through an intense poetry-writing phase starting shortly before my first (and relatively long-term) girlfriend broke up with me. As far as I recall, there are two rhyming poems (sad and funny) with strict meter, intended to be set to music, and some of my open form poems have the odd semi-rhythmical section here and there.

Edit: tylerni7, your contribution reminded me of this:

There was a young fella called Yuri
Caught a spacecraft to Alpha Centauri
"Had I known 'twas so far
To our neighbouring star
I would've brought with a good story!"

Yes, I know Alpha Centauri is a three-star system. So, if you like, he visited one of them.

[blackeye]

fingers suspended like marionettes
a phrase, a sentence, a thought spent
godless mind shape thy hands for work divine
yet a drought has sundered these tearless eyes
as the click and clack of commands pass;
the doubt from its sleepy hole swells in mass
the silhouette of mediocrity
is > than the masterpiece we see
us, whom are consumed by fear and greed
what are these superfluous live we lead?
the fork in the road which way do we go?
what data will remain is shown and blown
as you are a name, they all are names
plainly stated as glory is not fame

[thefiddler]

Edited for WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING, POSTING THIS PIECE OF SHIT POEM?

[My Uncivilized God]

Can we post lyrics here?

As these orbs dance,
To the unheard melody of Creation,
Sung far beyond our comprehension,
By those celestial.

Dancing through the Void,
Watched by distant Gods,
Caressed by barren light,
Trapped by the laws.

They swing,
and they circle
and they never stop.

Our failure and our folly,
Our efforts and our empires,
Are as whispers in the dark.

All our joys, and all our sorrows,
Ring silent in their domain.

The orbs dance on.

(You get +1 perception if you can tell me what it's about)

Fire that Lucifer would envy.
Jets of light the angels would covet.
Fiery cord, clung tight to his bride.
Bride dances, her partner Abyss.
Eventually unite, in dark, in atom.
Without her, he wails to hostile quiet.
No more destruction, no fire, no light.
In dark and in cold, neither angel nor demon does yearn;
His beauty in destruction.

(This time you get +100 if you get it right)

A sun getting vampired by a black hole. I don't know the technical name for it (a binary system is two suns, right? so not that) but a sun goes into orbit around a black hole and gets ripped to pieces over a long period of time.

[the Cow]

you can break horses
hell, you can make 'em scream
Rolling eyes and tangle tongued
exactly as it seems
and you can slice at eyelids
and never flinch again
better to blind an open mind
than see inside of men
where you can ride to exhaustion
on broken legs and backs
feet black from bleeding
the pins and needles and tacks
because my hands are lost to me now
they wave helpless in the air
and hand the knives of broken lives
to anyone left to care
and you can take my voice away
its nickels and dimes to me now
the growl of passing sympathy
the graves our bodies plow
and when her spirit is broken
and her eyes are unblinking blind
and she trudges on legs numbly stumbling
you can assure yourself you're kind
you can inscribe every inch of her
she'll be giddy in delight
even if she never blinks again
you'll know that it was right
such is the pain of a single night
if it lets her close her eyes
to the pain of every other night
and lets her live her life in lies
because, you can break horses
they'll thank you in the end
their lives were made to be broken
even if ours were made to mend