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Black Funeral Pyre
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I'm a wounded chalice, filled with thoughts
of redemption; of forgiveness within.
Roaming through my failing happiness
like a whisper from a winter's icy wind.
My thoughts have turned to daze long ago,
when I felt as pure and innocent as an infant.
Remembering the desires held like crystal;
delicate glass which shatters in an instant
Tears won't come, I am too deeply ingrained
into the mindset that big boys never cry.
Instead, I close down my emotional valves,
letting my despair come out in a silent sigh.
I would, if I could, embrace a dangling hope
of glowing rainbows filtered through my rain.
Letting the whisking whispers of contentment
filter like diamonds into my emotional plain.
It is not meant to be, that I now see; for instead
the undertaker will measure my containment.
The drooping silence will become my friend,
and I shall enter into a rusted sense of spent.
I have nothing left to offer, no words which may
bring anyone a golden shower of beggared desires.
Though my body like a knife, pleads for release,
I shall instead build myself a black funeral pyre.
