Seasons In Purgatory
How much pain of seasons in purgatory
will I continue to abide?
emotive in limbo, static preserve
in cyclones of black formaldehyde.
Frozen stiff in warping rifts of time,
sandwiched between the prison floors,
boiling down to sub-atomic,
castaway behind closed doors.
To exist in the belladonna shade
of your exclusive other life,
long distance tolls, snatches of heaven,
balance on the butcher knife.
Walking crooked on fine bone china,
afraid to God the glaze will crack,
scared to death of unknown future,
laid waste if you never come back.
I know all about the temporal pistol
of bullet-hard-bitten choice;
I say it's all right, I mean it's all right,
but the hurt burns a hole in my voice.
My life is reliant upon you,
I heap prayer upon prayer that you see
I cannot devolve the spiralling ache
that pleads for us both to be free.
I need this expression to tell you,
to proclaim lest I scream on my knees,
it's so hard to see the whole of the wood
for the crowded intrusion of trees.
Yet I will remain your redeemer,
' till the cold heart of time has beat through,
consoled by the knowledge that no other being
could love you as much as I do...
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