A Burnt Cage

September 18, 2018

Lord, oh Lord, what is this?

What is this that I’m feeling?

Pray, Oh God, help me

For my palms are bleeding.

Lord oh Lord, aid me: for these days are dead

Lord oh Lord, consult me

For sometimes I prefer emptiness instead.

The fires in my chest have already been lit,

My heart turned to stone, and crumpled like

Dirt.

Plants have grown, apples have rotten,

But still, the pain lingers

As if it were never forgotten.

There’s a lifetime of pain and agony, behind her blue lit eyes

The need, and the want for love,

Has now only been despised.

There’s a cup now half empty, a dry, solemn, ocean blue

The winds are now peaceful

But the loneliness is too.

It’s as if a fire, refuses to go out; she sways and seeps and fights stating,

“This love will never die out.”

Your face has turned to stoicism, your soul,

Now

Self reliant.

But if someone were to love you, they now would have to prove it,

By Dying.

The comfort of love, the home of the trees, feels as if it were cut down

And forced to stare at these

The building with the stories, of poems and kids

There’s a love for the Earth that lingers

Behind all of this.

She is the ghost of midnight, a distant memory

Her light hair shines like fire

And her eyes a lovely ocean blue

But if you met her, and stared,

You would be reminded:

That stars at night shine too.

Surrender, Surrender, Surrender they ask-

Because she fights everyday

Her life is better it seems,

Because poverty is now astray.

Her pride lies within her work; but her self assurance is freed.

She has a Title to her name,

a way to be.

But these things only mask the House of Gold: lingering with

ghosts and spirits, birthed from infant-hood, they ask, weeping,

“If you were truly loved, then why… would the ones you loved most, not have you for keeping?”

“It’s them, not me!” She fights

But deep inside,

It’s true,

And their right.

“They just don’t love me. What can I do? People born from the same star, even fade too.”

Her cup is half empty, and liver half full

The shakedness of alcohol, cannabis, had fits of rage.

Monsters clawed her insides, pulling the black blood from her pores. Her senses were now lost, everything but black. She lost control, and didn’t know, when she’ll be back.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” she wailed, muffled cries abroad. She finally heard a whispered thought:

“This is sad.”

Is it not?

No one knew what to do, except the girl who was the Ocean blue.

Because now, finally another soul of the ocean blue eyes and fire golden hair: was another star, that was dying- where was she abused?

The fight for peace is long, and treacherous:

It has been for more than 17 years young.

“Lord, how much more do I fight?”

Before my blood turns cold, pale, and blue-

“Like the planet I feel I have been cursed from?”

“Why must I be taught the lesson of self-reliance, where is all my pain?”

For when the blonde girl can no longer bear, she lives in a fit of rage.

She daydreams about life; life how it should.

It’s funny in contrast- life out there, and life that would.

There’s a life in your head, your lively, lively thoughts:

She dances to La Vie En Rose: envisioning a paradise, after death,

a rest that was bought

The fight to be loved, she knows, should be no fight at all; but it’s rather hard, I suppose, when you’re fire’s been blown out-

And yet your soul can never fall.

May her fight be treacherous, petty, solemn, and long

For she’s been so accustomed to death, when She arrives, she’d say

“I knew this all along.”

Maybe it is the life, that suffers, in the metal.

The

Superficiality of it-

It originates from the Devil.

To allow indifference, on things that matter most-

allow these warm hearts

To grow cold,

Because they lost their power

To adapt

And to mold.

Long live the fight, long live the aftermath,

of every unmistakable flood.

Long live the eternal strength of our blood:

unloved, or those who think should ought.

Because never, in her life again,

Will she be something

that She’s not.