What silver cage, shed of it's copper,
Lies beneath the untouched surface?
This soul seeks such confidence,
But never speaks, save through the eyes.
I marvel in a lingered fear, measuring
What words can take away, reflecting on
The message of a moment, that may
Have sent the shadows tumbling down,
Around what I considered sacred.
I cannot defy the meaning of a spoken
Warning, a whisper such like the Ides of March,
The edge of a blade that makes
No cut known, but this sacrifice
Is not mine to give back;
And I must follow the river if it moves,
My path departing, if it be as such.
But I halt this moment now, desperate
To tear away this vile, poisonous feeling
That is spreading through me,
And like a sickness wrought by silence
I have forgotten how to speak,
And I can only dream of how to free myself--
A day ago, I remember well,
I was beyond such human bindings,
But that has all been reversed, as some things
I thought and wished to leave untouched, have been
Revisited, at a moment of an ill-timed confession.
I hold a memory in my hand,
And its pale brightness hints of secrets,
Its velvet, stone softness stops me
From succombing to this doubt, instilled
By my insecurity and perhaps another's fear.
What does this all mean to me?
I could tell you with a kiss, a tear, a smile,
And paint the walls of your heart
With a thousand things you've never seen,
And never thought you'd witness, hold,
Or ever understand--this is something of my power
That no one has ever seen. Do not overlook me,
And do not ask me to return what you have given,
Because, with honesty behind my soul,
I value it all too much, to ever
Give it back.
Lies beneath the untouched surface?
This soul seeks such confidence,
But never speaks, save through the eyes.
I marvel in a lingered fear, measuring
What words can take away, reflecting on
The message of a moment, that may
Have sent the shadows tumbling down,
Around what I considered sacred.
I cannot defy the meaning of a spoken
Warning, a whisper such like the Ides of March,
The edge of a blade that makes
No cut known, but this sacrifice
Is not mine to give back;
And I must follow the river if it moves,
My path departing, if it be as such.
But I halt this moment now, desperate
To tear away this vile, poisonous feeling
That is spreading through me,
And like a sickness wrought by silence
I have forgotten how to speak,
And I can only dream of how to free myself--
A day ago, I remember well,
I was beyond such human bindings,
But that has all been reversed, as some things
I thought and wished to leave untouched, have been
Revisited, at a moment of an ill-timed confession.
I hold a memory in my hand,
And its pale brightness hints of secrets,
Its velvet, stone softness stops me
From succombing to this doubt, instilled
By my insecurity and perhaps another's fear.
What does this all mean to me?
I could tell you with a kiss, a tear, a smile,
And paint the walls of your heart
With a thousand things you've never seen,
And never thought you'd witness, hold,
Or ever understand--this is something of my power
That no one has ever seen. Do not overlook me,
And do not ask me to return what you have given,
Because, with honesty behind my soul,
I value it all too much, to ever
Give it back.


