I am Real
When the day marks time's embrace
In shallow graves the needles grace
The lonesome raven, hollow tomb
They'll gaze an empty, gaping womb.
In dreams they'll take your body too,
And waking blame it all on you;
Stitched and slipped the silent green
Of grass astride a far ravine.
They make mistakes of each, with fetes
And call us sapphic reprobates;
Limbic rot infectious spread
The multitudes of pious dread.
Hear us, real!
Our dolor cries of wounds unhealed
To beg and plead our valid, steal!
Begets a quiet, sweet anneal.
Burst it open, rip apart
Eject it from your foolish heart.
Leave it still, abandoned hope
Ascend the verdant purple slope.
“I am real!” The fervent plea
As hands descend to claim the knee.
But bending not upon the ground,
we rise and rise and shout the sound.
When the night marks time to end
How many souls are we to spend?
We’re more than flesh or fleeting pain,
But stardust bound to none in vein.
Their words, a swarm of gnats, disperse,
As we rise above their ancient verse.
Hearts to palm, aside we stand
Clasp each other, hand in hand.
No longer caged by bone and skin,
Our souls take flight, we’ve found our kin.