Lordy, Lordy, Mighty Warty

The things I’ve had to know,
The things I’ve had to say,
The things I’ve had to do,
Weigh heavy in
A matchbox heart.

All the pain a body carries
Sits outside, and opens a door.
What words come,
From inky black beyond?
What is that mothertongue,
Ancient and Obscure?
How does it mean nothing,
And everything, in the pulse
Of unknowable brain and sinew?

Some hear,
“Build a shell,
Arm yourself
Against, hit first,
So you’ll never be hit last.”

I hope some hear,
“Learn kindly,
Reject cycles of pain,
And be vigilant
Of how you impress
Upon the world.”

Lord knows,
I’ve done my time.
Is it over?
Am I free?
Lordy, who knows.

For now, there is comfort,
In unhinged love
From those encircled
By wreaths of thorny rose,
For whom I hold grace.

You look in the mirror
And see invisible pieces.

When I look into you,
I see everything elusive, furrowed.
Sparks and embers of each other,
Hidden to ourselves.

I always wonder
How you see in me,
All the things
I can’t
In myself.

Although,
The future is a snake,
Who plays dice games.

We only hope
She rolls
In our
favour.