Requiem Wordsong

What really is this lament of mine? 

I think it’s the fear in my heart. The stuff that’s not suppose to be there. Those pesky feelings of limitations. Oh hindrances. 

Of the inevitable authority trying to regulate my creativity.  They want to lock me down. And you too. I lament about that.

 I cry for all the love this life will never experience, that this flesh will never feel fresh against itself. For all the waterfalls I’ll never dive off, or under.  Those meeting places with only one some there. 

For the ringing in my ear, the siren piercing constant sound of madness? Of control!? Of foreign concepts and theories the likes of which my mind cannot yet grasp!?!? It plays steady now, and even steadier still! As if to remind me of something. Varying slightly only like a relocation of an itch, and inch over. Just, still there. 

I clench my fist at that. I arm myself for them. 

Yet I can’t seem to keep my weapon drawn on you. Atleast not long enough to capture your true beauty  splattered against papyrus full with intent to receive it’s image of you.

 All the songs, are gone. Sunrise 626 was one calling back to it's lost kindred. 

Our souls will chase each other out the window. I weep for the unpleasant landings. And for the pain the unpleasantries won’t have to feel, won’t even welcome. 

Scars are crown. Stregnth and resilience are royal sensibilities that we shall aquire on this, our journey to the other side of the game. 

Why is what I have for winners and losers. For you and I, and everyone like me and us.  

For the shadow behind my reflection.

 For the lonely lines looming over me. 

For you. 

For your eyes, like prisms of passion. I’d just as surely bathe in your tears, like the cleanse warm waters of  a pure pain. For leisure. 

I weep for the security of  the world inside my bedroom, where from platforms of darkness I helm these calls out to you. For the echos that don’t make it back. For the breathe that fails my refrain. 

For the smiles I’ll never see on yours or their faces. For the tools that will gather dust in corners, rather than  build and bridge and boast. 

For the sinful moments of my riotus humanity trying to better itself, and not succeeding.  

I do want you, however, to cry for me.

 Perhaps I could be your lament, perhaps I could be your pausing concern. Perhaps there is reason to be afraid after all. 

After all.

 After all. 

After all. 

While three plays again 

and again, 

and again. 

My lament of love is for that.

 Is for her. 

Is for you.

 Is for me. 

Is for them.