Complexity

February 20, 2012

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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'.

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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.

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Our ceasefire deal is weakly sick,

this false pretense of safety met.

But there beneath the faded bricks

of over-arching hopes turned debt,

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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?

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Now stale blooms caress our eyes,

this mockery* turns uttered words

to wasted talk, too old for lies.

Teeth speak of venom, voice unheard.

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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.