That Which Promises
Another time of birth gone,
another mess hanging,
heart beating in the void,
dreams walking in your darkness...
I am left to breathe in deep
the storms cutting rifts in my world
that you left me with...
A world in which
there was no love to promise,
yet promises hang heavy on your tongue,
while life slipped away into isolation.
Still the loneliness is remembered,
and that stillness that put me broken
back into that brass box,
hidden in the void of emptiness,
as the world came tumbling down.
You preached of gold and glass,
glittering images that cut and tear,
while you heard the calls for freedom,
and pushed them to the dirt,
and told humanity about your
unholy attempts at salvation.
Your dagger etched into flesh,
marking what you thought was yours,
now torn and tattered,
and faded,
like prophecies of old.
I can still smell the scent
of torrid rains
on the worlds yet to come,
and prayers taught for those
who would think to preach,
yet unable to talk.
I walk in my mind
to lands that dream of me and my touch,
where the sacred
make of my soul their holy temple,
on untouched ground hidden from you.
There are places you have taken,
and places you tried to take,
but they are far too sacred,
and you can never hope to touch any
with that empty soul of yours.
So stand at my back
with your gaze cast down,
into the abyss that you have created
and recognize who is lifted
far above the truth you tried to sell.
That which promises passes away
into that which dreams lives forever
in the memories of life,
and grows in the essence of love.
For without either,
what could there be?