I Crumble, to Capture

You can’t separate a man from his soul. I ponder a miracle—

Our floating sky. So much the madness, a child cries. And

So desperately—to fall apart. The moon, fraught with tears,

Cleaving anger. And I rupture vessels, a bleeding brain.

But so gentle the memory—a grove of ghosts; and so hectic

The grief—a field of thorns. My vision wrecked, a mystic

Song; and there she stands, wailing, “God.” I crumble, to

Capture such pain; and life, a precious pearl, a sacred gem.

My mortal drug, I yen with such passion, afraid to waken.

But pain—is only so fruitful; and thus, “joy cometh in the

Morning.” Remember this love; and avoid the follies; for

Such is wisdom. I pause—a turquoise sky; and love, a tear

Is treasured. It was never our place to hate—a haunted love;

And we die so freely.