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Cruel Things
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Sharp and cruel things sleep in my brain
That I might cut through them with a blade of evil’s bane
That I might deject and surrender myself to that pain
Or rather confront that cruelty and leave it chained
If a man is any better than the thoughts in his head
Surely the wise world would deliver unto him
What he requested that he may not be lead
Into darkness where his fate is torn asunder by the Nephilim
Taken apart piece by piece and left to die
Or rather rise from the ashes of his past
A purification in the form of a twisted war cry
Where he approaches and details his sins at long last
His soul would sprout wings through the flesh of his back
Iridescent and transparent as the rain of tears
Washes away the soot and pollution in a stream of ivory black
Where his grace might strengthen him to dismiss his great fears
Fall backwards into heaven, head held high below his feet
With every thought a tidal wave of kindness in his heart
Awash like high tide upon the shore of his mind
That he may take with gratitude every heartbeat
The silent wisdom that suffering would impart
The love for his fellow that he once maligned
Would finally be understood as the talent of mankind
And his grave would be dug deep by the mourning hands of love.