I rejoice in the freedom of calcified lies grown brittle,
cracked and broken and then thrown out carelessly to the winds.
And, Oh, God, I see my sins stretching back
as sighs torn from between my eyes whisper off between the trees where I am lost,
so lost in thickets of apologies I never learned to say.

And way off on the crest of a hazy hill I see her lone and lonely figure
and I am crying for her to look my way so I can scream for her,
so I can cry for her 
and love and live for her 
as long as I have days.

But she can't hear me... can't come near me. 

So my eyes look up at you (or is it down? or sideways?)
My eyes look all ways until they roll in paroxysms of existential ire 
and I scream, then, for fire. 
I scream for blood and vengeance... 
but all that falls are tears,
bloody tears of love-lost's salted taste.

And it seems a waste.

All this screaming on deaf ears... hers and yours.

All this smiling at lost fears pretending I have made it through,
silencing the tears, pretending I've received what I've desired
as on I've wallowed through the mire of lost paradigms,
making nonsensical rhymes as I proclaim the farce of freedom's fame.
As I proclaim the lie that lies are dead, and gone, and died.

But are they, God? 

Some of them... yes. 

The small weak ones grown worn from winds of admission, 
have detached in resigned submission. 
This, only this, has me screaming on despite my tears. 
This thing, this relief of fears. 

And God. Yes! God. 


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