Sparks

Bruises on the skin, scratches on the soul,

sparks across the darkest night,

a torn spirit among the shadows.

At dusk, in the final days,

everything shatters beyond repair.

While the song plays,

that distant song,

the wounds

open,

again.

In the night,

among trails,

and everything fades,

even that song,

that hurts and hurts.

The heart falls out of tune,

among distant echoes of life,

while we wrap bandages around existence,

on that heart that never heals.

Until the inner music dies away,

and the heart stops singing songs,

cold sadness of a heart,

death foretold,