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King Of Tears
The pools of sadness I have left behind
Broil and lie stagnating abandoned on the heath,
Their surfaces are restless, ill-defined,
Ripple-shot, concealing of the things that drown beneath.
The refugees of memories I suppress,
Wander lost and lonely, ragged ghosts out on the fen,
Decrepitly awaiting life’s caress,
That sparks them scant existence now and then.
The infamy of love that I have borne,
Beaten down and buried, walled in tombs of quarry stone,
Left nothing of themselves that I should mourn,
Nothing I could cleave to as a trigger to atone.
So gather ‘round you soothsayers and seers,
To charge the glass with misery and chase the whisky down,
For I will tell you of the king of tears,
The resist of abdication and the need to wear the crown.
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