Why So Ever Wish?
Everything fades away
softly or harshly glowing,
growing smaller,
end of cycle
already written
in the fabric.
None
to escape the thrill
and fascination,
all the pain
to dry in the sun
'til hard and withered
we lay down
to feed the grass
beyond the pines.
It's been marked-
there's a stone
already for my Neverland,
where everything that happened
could've been something else.
I should've been Pearl De Vere.
Among those ones
who gave up easy for the kind
of fame that creeps
from joyous burial mound
to wash us with stories
that don't need roses
for happy endings.
Lighting fuses not
to watch them burn-
but burn if must!
They didn't run.
Our nature shakes
beneath the core of us.
We tremble in ways
we can't outrun.
And they whisper-
Why so ever wish
to run?
Copyright © Erin Beckett | Year Posted 2013
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