The sun sets to the west
The sun never rises at all
Looks over the shoulder to find nothing
Looks no more
Pity in the eyes, riots in the mind
Thought less of surroundings than circumstance
A whisper, a loud bang, a fall, silence
No one is there, no one is ever there
Attention swayed away from the present
Redemption bleeding through the trees
Over the mountains, across the oceans
Reflecting off the skin
A bittersweet irony that protects
If only barely

Looks to find his shadow in the darkness
Looks to find compassion
Looks to find God
Looks no more
The moonlight burns; travels still
Heeds not the warnings; travels still
Sees not the signs; travels still
Crosses this bridge, then that
Burns them both
Draws his sword on passers-by
No avail against shields of ignorance
Turns the blade on himself
No avail against shields of ignorance

Vagrant is the mind
Vagrant is the soul
Vagrant is the body
That cages them both
Hoping to find new hope; escaping old
Reaches again for the sword
And abandons the attempt
Realizing words cut deeper
And that silence cuts deeper still
Should know, and does know
But fading with clarity
Are the signs of his sanity
That fall with him to the ground
And die.

07/17/2009

Posted on 07/17/2009
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