There are words that chasten, looks that cry “don’t, don’t”
Whilst dismembered voices rattle through the barren
Archipelago of bitter hearts and interesting lives
We never got to live. Together at least.
Some day you’ll say to me
“Come back”
The soundtrack will be the fallen notes of falling songbirds.
When manifest urgency poised, the barbarous
Bourgeois class deemed it all too taboo.
The trees we never planted, the archive never written,
The love somehow like smoke in the air
Will forever gently resist, for resistance is holy
In the face of savage expectation.
Or the world moves on without knowing
What I know, what you live, what it needs.
And it will not be richer for that.
And the lovers chant that lovers’ chant
Of beauty and beauty’s own sadness.
That song, these songs, this song
They’re for us...
… it was us, wasn’t it?