The sun is scarred. The night diseased.
And you did it. You did as you pleased.
The birds are numbered. The days donít sing
And yes, I knew. I knew everything.

What funny beasts wield our skins
Yet none but we can wear our sins.
Iíll say goodbye. Iíll say it now
And if I canít leave, youíll show me how.

The sea is empty, and in my throat
And you kept my ship, so far afloat.
But the lakes I cannot drink away
And only the rivers know what to say:

They say my dream is a bed of nails,
But I know not what this entails.
I know I lie. I know I lie,
But, rivers, do I have to die?

The sun is scarred. The moon deceased.
My skin is laid on a whole new beast.
What hunger burns that is not mine!
What hunger burns I canít define!

For want of a skin that does not speak,
For want of strength when I feel weak,
I promise you, I will rise again
And I will wish for a new skin then.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle
Written by MartenHoyle (Vate C. Carmen)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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