All That I Hold Dear

If I could run away—but do I dare?

Do I dare to think it, dare to wish,

Dare to hope and pray,

To dream of it in sleep,

(Even dream throughout the day?)

To cling with all my waning strength,

Somehow all but drained,

A whispering voice I cannot place—

And is it all in vain?

If I should choose to run,

Will I find you at my side?

Would you turn and run the other way,

Or will your steps echo mine?

A choice, a choice, you have a choice—

     Do I?

When I run, I won’t look back,

For fear of what I’ll find,

For fear that I should choose to stay—

Have I made up my mind?

I have, I have, I’ve made my choice,

Today, I’ll run, today.

But do I dare to ask myself—

If I should choose to stay,

(At the very least, delay),

Would I be taken back?

Will you hold me so I cannot go,

Cannot run, cannot flee,

So I forget it altogether,

So I cannot escape?

You would cling with all your tested strength,

And whisper in my ear,

That all I did was not in vain,

Nor all that I hold dear.

My Near-Sighted Neighbour

String from wrist and limb ascends

In Heaven's greatest jest,

Thread of steel, but threadbare still,

Gleaming from afar;

Distance hides perpetual rust,

Everlasting red from red from centuries shorn,

Years long since reclaimed,

The scarlet rusts like rain in spring,

Snow in winter,

Snow untamed,

The scarlet rusts like rain.

Hung on a Line

The way out is clear, it’s easy to find,

Well-lit and refined,

Indeed, it’s easily-defined

     as being behind you.

There’s a past that lies waiting,

Folded in black and neatly hung

     on a line,

The air keeps it cool, waiting for you,

But the steam blinds your eyes

to the past on the line,

It’s easy to find if you know where to look—

     If only you knew where to look.

They Do Not Sing

With death on their faces

and life in their hearts,

A parade in the street

and a song in the dark,

they sing;

There are no words

and there is no tune,

No beat, no force,

no treble nor bass,

no chorus or refrain,

no audience to hear—

they sing;

To deafened ears and broken souls,

smiles fade with broken notes,

Warnings blare all through the night,

all meagre hope is left to die,

all virtue paid in hatred’s toll,

they do not sing;

They scream.