My fingers are white like whispers
|
and the lips that consume them are flames
|
for lack of better things to set on fire.
|
|
My knees are red like rumors
|
from this gossip with the floor.
|
I haven't moved in half an hour.
|
|
Spirit come down,
|
show us your power!
|
Spirit come down,
|
show us your love!
|
|
I'd tell You but I'm too afraid
|
that this night will break into day
|
and I'll be here without a word in reply.
|
And I'd listen but I'm too ashamed
|
for I know that the answer's the same
|
as the last time I refused to get up and try.
|
|
My eyes are as blank as bandages
|
that cover the blood on my hands,
|
that strangle themselves in despair.
|
|
My heart is as gold as a grave
|
that reshuffles its tenants each day
|
and You treat me like treasure when I throw you away.
|
|
Turn these silences into
|
"Father, Father."
|
|
-----------------
|
Caesura
|
After The Sirens |