A Memory of Something Stolen

I think that I remember,

time before;

something more like an old

lover in the sky.

Leaning over to the point of falling

and I know there’s nothing wrong with

letting her take me down.

 

Where I come from

there is very little precious left.

Going to grey,

stole away,

such a gorgeous theft.

 

In our absence,

in our logic,

there can be no nothing.

So, I grow a little slow,

with a head for suffering.

 

Gaining all that I can.

Taking until I’m damned.

 

HG – 2000-2005

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