People say that poetry is in the pain
But then there are those moments
When you're choking so hard
And hurting so deep that even
The darn words wouldn't weave
People say love is meant to be easy
But then there are those walls
That are built so high, with cracks
That leave trails through the veins
And cause trust and faith to fail
People say that happiness is within
But then there are those ghosts
That creep in, and drink from your soul
Leaving nothing but dried memories
Of a past that refuses to implode
People write about love, and about
The unusual politics of it all
How much to give and to expect
About the rules and the rule breakers
And how there are no rules at all
But what of those who've died
From the incurable disease
That took their heart, and And
Snapped the core so inexorably that
Even today they're wandering around.
Collecting pieces.
