And Then The Cry

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?