Somewhere out west of the mountains
far away from the sun’s vengeful stare,
there’s a place where you walk with your heartache,
where you hide from the sky’s pressing glare.
In the darkness where silence consumes you
and your face is as thin as the mist,
shine like the knife that you carry
and seal its wound with a kiss.
You’ve tried but you’ve failed to resist
the weakness that burns under skin.
I have seen how you wallow in beauty
in the halls of the houses of sin.
And with each empty promise that’s whispered
another piece I once loved turns to dust.
Shine like the stars’ purest light,
and leave flesh’s hungering lust.
I’ve heard that you’re dying of sorrow.
You’re a mystery that none can explain.
But I know in my heart you’re still breathing;
I can hear your blood move in your veins.
And your anger that no one can see
lights up the dark where you bow.
Shine like the flame of the Cross
that you left for the teachings of Tao.
In the ruins you’ve carved out a niche
where you sit counting blessings like sand.
Through the wreckage that once was your glory
you sift tenderly with your hand.
And I’ve followed your mark in the earth
that you left when you took off your shoes.
Shine like a beacon and lead me,
for the footprints are easy to lose.
You can pull from the world and retreat,
you can lay in the lap where you’ve cried,
you can drag yourself out to the ocean
and say it was there that you died.
But you can’t tear away from your demons,
no matter how fast that you run.
So stay with me just for a little while
and we’ll turn both our heads toward the sun.
A Better Idea Rated: T Webster rants about war, but what else is new. Prompt: civil war.
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