When The Heaven's Bleed Iron
The sky has forgotten its mercy tonight,
And drips with a sorrow of steel—
No silver of stars, no whisper of light,
Only the wound we can feel.
The clouds are heavy with rusted rain,
They weep like a blade drawn thin,
Every drop is a quiet pain
That settles beneath the skin.
The wind does not sing as it used to sing,
It trembles, uncertain and cold—
As though it remembers a gentler spring
The heavens no longer hold.
Oh, where is the hush of a kinder blue,
The soft, forgiving air?
For iron has stained the evening through,
And grief is everywhere.
Yet still in the dark, though the sky may scar,
A heart dares quietly to start—
For even beneath the cruelest star,
There lingers a human heart.
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