seule

Borrowed


So many days have passed away like so many a rain-drop cast in vain upon a desert of pain... so many moments awake and confused misled and abused by the lies you used as dreams... the hours, they slip away... the memories, they go astray... you are the writer, I am the play... or have I been written to be played as a fool to my wits end and broken by your rule... oh sickness, oh sorrow... you are the king of hearts, though they all are shattered and black, battered and cracked by your torment... by your grace... by your smile... by your face... put in place by the disgrace of your non-angelic pace... you glide upon my thoughts with wings of glass... the tide is already bought and subsides to let you pass... you are so magnificent, yet so bland... as you hold your master's hand... as you slowly take command... and the walls come crashing down... yet another soul is yours, now let it mend all of your sores... now seek another friend, for I am used up and at my end... find me beneath your feet, when again at last we meet......