Sing to me now, O Hollowed Sanity
For all the pain I've left in me, reeling and kneeling in the shadows of late
Needing the light to stab out my shattered reality before the twilight fleece me anon
But never too far away from the smell of tombstones oh my withered heart
Needing nobody but relishing the languish of the soul I tread these mossy paths alone
So vaguely I dress for evening funerals of the lords to come home unheeded by sins
Of now and forever I will keel this runaway ship to moor in the well of despair
For all the leaves of drying autumn I sighed away these sunsets but never too good
So now what else is there within this mirth-filled grey? A pot of gold or slithering beasts?
A comfort of songs to stop my wrist-slashing you think? Or maybe a sign of tears to come?
O please refrain yourself from helping me then, my fine-weathered friend
If all I ever breathed was an annoyance to those of the happy, unfeeling at best!
So please ignore me if my stares are like graveyards unnamed and untended
For I am here in this realm unprepared and unstrung to say the least, or worst
And let me not die except in grief of non-living when I should have lived but not like this
For there maybe not a hymn long enough to save me, from my dying self and all your troubles
Farewell...
THE SIGN OF SHAIRO
KL
2010
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