Pendant Reclusive
The more time alone I spend apart
From the vulgar traffic of the earth
It is the more wisdom fill my heart
And the more I come closer to birth
Through each metamorphosis of thought
For all my life there was this pressure
This culture of what should be despite
Of what I was born to be. This erasure
Of something substantial for a blight,
A poor fly struggling that sinister caught
And no emotional intelligence that web
Could escape, for how is a fly not to chase
The scent of things rotting when no ebb
Of hunger is present its desire to erase?
It was easier not to fall in love, let it depart
There is so much distraction before the truth
And so much pain after it is known. I see
Every fair thing a little bit of a coward brute
But is more meaningful because of misery.
I sing better with words from a broken heart.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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