February 20, 2012


No languor falls as sharp as ours

beneath the cherry budding tree.

No hope can hide frail bitter scars

When 'you and I' becomes just 'me'.


While quick like sobbing rain it falls-

the civil'ty of human needs

gives way to cold, aversive gall

and makes the burning match of me.


Our ceasefire deal is weakly sick,

this false pretense of safety met.

But there beneath the faded bricks

of over-arching hopes turned debt,


the bloody corpse, of dreams now gone.

And how could you mend bridges burned?

Your moral worth mixed right with wrong,

still I owe tax for lies unturned?


Now stale blooms caress our eyes,

this mockery* turns uttered words

to wasted talk, too old for lies.

Teeth speak of venom, voice unheard.


When languor turns to bitter guile,

in used up time, the clock will die.

The bias caught inside a smile

will ask of us to sever ties.