What's This?

What is this?
In clarity of mind and of soul.
In cracking smiles and in washed-out joy,
what is this that makes us who we are?

What is this soft stepping upon the landing,
that makes my dreams warp in to sleuth-like serendipity,
and does paint my every step with waking despair?

What is this gentle tap at my window that wakes the dead,
bringing the unliving to my door in endless gain and bass?
What is this that makes the unholy rise to their feet?

In streets of swollen sorrow, I am with you.
Sweet Hannah, you are not alone.
Amidst the darkest tides and strongest gales,
I will hold your hand,
and feel dead cells scraping skin from your palm,
that I might love you in entirety.
I am with you in priory,
so alone in innocent cell.
Where your soul is not heard and your heart is ignored,
I am with you in priory,
that your messages be spoken aloud,
that your prophecy be true.
Hannah, in all your auburn wisdom and beauty,
I am with you in priory,
that I might love you one day without abide.
In all you say and do,
I am with you.
I am with you in priory,
that our injections be of sanity
and our medication be of bone.
Let us be well at least,
to see this new year dawn.
I am with you in priory,
make madness not your friend.
Let me love you this last day,
in all that you deserve and want.
I am with you in priory,
save the disease and the damned,
let my silent voice be hushed in your name.
I am with you in priory,
to hold you in your filth and tears.