Before we laugh we learn to cry, before we truly live - we die.
It is no kindness, I have seen, to simply leave in sleep and dream.
I wonder at the tolling bell, so voiceless, echoes very well.
It casts again a magic spell upon whomever hears.
In my mind I play a game, with great distress and greater shame.
So shut the door on all that pain - I am not to blame.
Wander slowly in the streets as rain cascading down in sheets
rolls off my window pain.
And down the sewer it shall pour to softly knock upon my door.
Silently will I admit I do not understand.
My God so powerful and great, this bondage will you ever break?
Or leave me here in broken tears, the stormy skies, a silent fear.
Or could it be if chains were broke in mightiness of just one stroke...
Would I be nothing more than smoke?
A victim by request.
© copyright 2021 h mark taylor